Sometimes a blog can just be used for sharing the things one likes. This is one of those times. The trailer for last year's movie Comedian was just inspired. Like so many other trailers, it features a voiceover from Hal Douglas, the gravelly-throated guy so well known to anyone who's visited a cinema in the last 30 years. But this one's different. This time Hal is very much the star.
You can watch it here (and it's a treat), but for those without the time or inclination to wait for it to download, I've copied a transcript provided by those lovely people at Empire Magazine.
***
BLACK SCREEN
The Miramax logo flashes up on screen. We hear shuffling sounds.
CUT TO INTERIOR CONTROL BOOTH: Two men, an engineer and a director, are in a recording booth. Through the window, we see an elderly gentleman cclamber onto a stool. He sits in front of a microphone and a lectern. He puts on his glasses, and slips on headphones.
CLOSE-UP: Feedback screeches through the monitor, sending dials into the red.
VOICEOVER MAN: Whoa... feedback.
A button is pressed. The red light flicks on. Recording begins. The engineer leans into the microphone.
ENGINEER: Okay, let's try this. This is the voiceover for Comedian Movie Trailer. Take one.
CLOSE-UP: Voiceover man, clearing his throat. There is a pause. Then he speaks with the voice that launched a thousand blockbusters.
VOICEOVER MAN: In a world where laughter was king...
The director presses a button, abruptly halting the recording.
DIRECTOR: Ah, no "in a world", Jack.
VOICEOVER MAN: What do you mean, no, "in a world"?
DIRECTOR: It's not that kind of movie.
VOICEOVER MAN: Oh? Okay. (pause) In a land that...
The director presses the intercom button immediately.
DIRECTOR: No "in a land" either.
VOICEOVER MAN: In a time...
DIRECTOR: Nah, I don't think so.
VOICEOVER MAN: In a land before time...
DIRECTOR: It's about a comedian Jack.
VOICEOVER MAN: One man..!
DIRECTOR: (exasperated) No.
VOICEOVER MAN: When your life is no longer your own...
DIRECTOR: Wh-what does that mean?
VOICEOVER MAN: When everything you know is wrong!
DIRECTOR: That's wrong.
VOICEOVER MAN: In an outpost...
DIRECTOR: No!
VOICEOVER MAN: On the edge of space...
DIRECTOR: There's no space!
VOICEOVER MAN: A girl...
DIRECTOR: No.
VOICEOVER MAN: Two girls...
DIRECTOR: No!
VOICEOVER MAN: Now...
DIRECTOR: No!
VOICEOVER MAN: More than ever...
DIRECTOR: Stop it!
VOICEOVER MAN: A renegade cop!
DIRECTOR: (sighing) I hate you...
VOICEOVER MAN: A robot renegade cop!
CLOSE-UP: Voiceover man.
The director's voice comes through the intercom.
DIRECTOR: You're fired.
VOICEOVER MAN: You're fired!
DIRECTOR: No, you're actually fired.
VOICEOVER MAN: I'm fired!
He pauses and stares into the distance.
CUT TO: A black screen. The words: "Comedian: A film about comedy with Jerry Seinfeld" appear. As they do, the dialogue continues.
DIRECTOR: Get out of the booth, Jack.
VOICEOVER MAN: No. I like it in here!
***
I was never a big fan of Seinfeld. I found the slapped-bass musical stings that punctuated every scene deeply annoying, and could never get past them to the comedy. But this trailer is pure genius. If, at some point in my life. I can create something of its like, I'll know I'm on my way somewhere...
8.7.03
5.7.03
Top tips
Very briefly, if you want to get somewhere in London and don't know the way, don't, whatever you do, conssult the Transport for London website Journey Planner. Ask someone who lives in the city. Or look at a map. Best of all, look at a map with someone who lives in the city.
The TfL gadget may have a clever little mind, but for all AI's progress, it hasn't yet developed common sense.
Sure, it'll tell you the most mathematically pleasing way there, according to certain criteria, but you can sure as hell tell it doesn't have to make the journey itself. Otherwise, why would it suggest a myriad routes that actually take twice as long as the quickest and most obvious? Ninety minutes and three changes between tube and bus to do a journey that takes half an hour max by tube alone? I rest my case.
Computers won't be taking over the world just yet. But just in case they ask for directions, let 'em work it out for themselves.
p.s. Hope you Americans are feeling suitably independent. When you grow up, you might realise what you missed out on. :)
Very briefly, if you want to get somewhere in London and don't know the way, don't, whatever you do, conssult the Transport for London website Journey Planner. Ask someone who lives in the city. Or look at a map. Best of all, look at a map with someone who lives in the city.
The TfL gadget may have a clever little mind, but for all AI's progress, it hasn't yet developed common sense.
Sure, it'll tell you the most mathematically pleasing way there, according to certain criteria, but you can sure as hell tell it doesn't have to make the journey itself. Otherwise, why would it suggest a myriad routes that actually take twice as long as the quickest and most obvious? Ninety minutes and three changes between tube and bus to do a journey that takes half an hour max by tube alone? I rest my case.
Computers won't be taking over the world just yet. But just in case they ask for directions, let 'em work it out for themselves.
p.s. Hope you Americans are feeling suitably independent. When you grow up, you might realise what you missed out on. :)
2.7.03
And then sometimes you have an encounter with a stranger that undoes all the damage of your previous one. Having just arrived at work this lunchtime, a girl I've never laid eyes on before gave me the sweetest little smile just before she got out of the lift on the sixth floor (home to the Beeb's execs and planning types). Made my day...
30.6.03
Walking into work this afternoon I passed, as I always do, the Skiddaw pub, something of an old man's hang-out not two minutes from my front door. In recent weeks the Skid's been clad in scaffolding and surrounded by builders. Naturally, this being about half past one, a couple of labourers were taking some time out, propping up a bit of wall unobscured by their metal poles.
And as I ambled past, one of them looked me in the eye, smirked, and said, "Fatty!"
His friend found it hilarious.
I just carried on walking.
I could have nonchalantly replied with "Idiot". Alternatively I could have stopped and asked the smug, bigoted, moronic, and likely pencil-dicked arsehole exactly what gave him the right to comment on passers-by and whether I had the right to reply with a more lengthy critique. This could perhaps have included mentioning that if, as was likely, he conformed to the stereotype of the manual labourer his cholesterol and carbohydrate-laden eating, drinking and smoking habits would probably see him undergoing a heart bypass in his late forties or early fifties. At that point he might feel he could have used his life in better ways than the persecution of innocents.
Or, despite not being the size he thought I was, I could have put my nevertheless considerable heft into perpetrating the acts of extreme and savage violence that flashed through my mind. The bigger they are, the harder they fall on you.
But fortunately, I just carried on walking.
It's something I've had to deal with on a sporadic basis throughout my life, and while it still hurts a little, I know that despite being overweight, I'm hardly a major league fatty. Something of a Halifax Town, in fact.
I'm much more depressed and angry about the people who feel entitled to get their kicks by hurling uninvited abuse at perfect strangers. Why do they do it? What makes them think they have the right to belittle people who could well be trying to deal with the matter for which they're being berated? Do they consider the possible effect their words may have? And is it only done to help them feel better about themselves?
Body fascism is not on a level with racisim, sexism or homophobia, but it is an unacceptable and unjust form of prejudice all the same.
And it takes every ounce of my self control to stop myself from taking these bastards on for all those who they have ridiculed for the sake of a cheap laugh.
The funny thing is that rather than making me want to lose a bit of weight, their words make me more resistant to the overwhelming culture of being thin and beautiful. I conform for nobody, especially not ignorant, abusive fuckwits on London street corners. So if you've got a problem with the way I look in your perfect world, well fuck you, and pass me a Mars Bar.
And as I ambled past, one of them looked me in the eye, smirked, and said, "Fatty!"
His friend found it hilarious.
I just carried on walking.
I could have nonchalantly replied with "Idiot". Alternatively I could have stopped and asked the smug, bigoted, moronic, and likely pencil-dicked arsehole exactly what gave him the right to comment on passers-by and whether I had the right to reply with a more lengthy critique. This could perhaps have included mentioning that if, as was likely, he conformed to the stereotype of the manual labourer his cholesterol and carbohydrate-laden eating, drinking and smoking habits would probably see him undergoing a heart bypass in his late forties or early fifties. At that point he might feel he could have used his life in better ways than the persecution of innocents.
Or, despite not being the size he thought I was, I could have put my nevertheless considerable heft into perpetrating the acts of extreme and savage violence that flashed through my mind. The bigger they are, the harder they fall on you.
But fortunately, I just carried on walking.
It's something I've had to deal with on a sporadic basis throughout my life, and while it still hurts a little, I know that despite being overweight, I'm hardly a major league fatty. Something of a Halifax Town, in fact.
I'm much more depressed and angry about the people who feel entitled to get their kicks by hurling uninvited abuse at perfect strangers. Why do they do it? What makes them think they have the right to belittle people who could well be trying to deal with the matter for which they're being berated? Do they consider the possible effect their words may have? And is it only done to help them feel better about themselves?
Body fascism is not on a level with racisim, sexism or homophobia, but it is an unacceptable and unjust form of prejudice all the same.
And it takes every ounce of my self control to stop myself from taking these bastards on for all those who they have ridiculed for the sake of a cheap laugh.
The funny thing is that rather than making me want to lose a bit of weight, their words make me more resistant to the overwhelming culture of being thin and beautiful. I conform for nobody, especially not ignorant, abusive fuckwits on London street corners. So if you've got a problem with the way I look in your perfect world, well fuck you, and pass me a Mars Bar.
27.6.03
You can't have helped noticing that Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf, the former Iraqi Information Minister, has finally tethered the dogs of war and resurfaced to be greeted by a jubilant Baghdad press corps.
But with his former employer currently on gardening leave, the man known as Comical Ali finds himself between projects. Mr Sahhaf says he plans to publish a kiss and tell book on his time with Saddam, but until then, how does he plan to fill his days?
For yet another Nota Benny exclusive, we've gone back to our source in Baghdad, and acquired a letter from Little Mo that gives a clue as to what he hopes to do next:
Dear President George W Bush,
It has come to my attention that the post of White House Press Secretary will shortly become vacant. I am hereby tendering my application in the hope that you may consider me for the role.
As someone who has had to perform a similar function for another sovereign nation, I am well acquainted with the duties the post will entail. Indeed, I believe you are familiar with my recent work in Baghdad, and very much appreciate the public plaudits you afforded me, while other members of our respective administrations and their citizens were taking part in a full and frank exchange of views.
I believe, therefore, that I can bring several lessons learned in my most recent position in succeeding Ari Fleischer as the public face of the White House.
Obviously, the most important aspect of the job will be the ease with which I am able to communicate the administration's thoughts, opinions and policies to the news media with conviction. It is widely known in this profession that these messages may occasionally include aspects of creative interpretation of the facts, be adventurously progressive when dealing with wider international opinion and domestic law, or require the messenger to disregard their personal philosophy. You will agree, I am certain, that my evident accomplishment in this field will allow me to transfer seamlessly from my old post into the new one.
Through my work and studies I have been fortunate enough to develop a highly proficient and colourful command of the English language. Enclosed is a transcript of some of the more memorable moments from my recent press briefings. I will, of course, always be on hand to assist you in becoming ever more articulate and eloquent.
My relationship with the world press, as demonstrated in recent months, is very amiable, and I would relish the badinage with the White House press corps that is clearly such an important element of the job.
I also possess a great personal knowledge of the geography of the Middle East - an area which, I understand from my contacts, will continue to dominate the news agenda over the coming months and years. Although it would not necessarily be directly relevant to my appointed role, I would be happy to act as a special advisor on issues pertaining to the region.
And finally, the similarity in the name of the incumbent - Ari - and my nickname - Ali - means I could slip into the post without the uncomfortable name-learning period that accompanies every new appointment.
So it is my belief that my skills and experience to date have been excellent preparation for this role, and I would cherish the opportunity to work with the team that has so successfully communicated its vision to the rest of the world.
It is only common sense, then, that we build on the serendipitous nature of the situation we currently find ourselves in, and use it to build a formidable partnership. I look forward very much to working with you.
Yours sincerely,
Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf
P.S. Please forgive me calling you, among other things, an insane little dwarf. I hope you understand that it was merely proof of my professional dedication to the role I was then performing, and hope it will not impede my application.
But with his former employer currently on gardening leave, the man known as Comical Ali finds himself between projects. Mr Sahhaf says he plans to publish a kiss and tell book on his time with Saddam, but until then, how does he plan to fill his days?
For yet another Nota Benny exclusive, we've gone back to our source in Baghdad, and acquired a letter from Little Mo that gives a clue as to what he hopes to do next:
Dear President George W Bush,
It has come to my attention that the post of White House Press Secretary will shortly become vacant. I am hereby tendering my application in the hope that you may consider me for the role.
As someone who has had to perform a similar function for another sovereign nation, I am well acquainted with the duties the post will entail. Indeed, I believe you are familiar with my recent work in Baghdad, and very much appreciate the public plaudits you afforded me, while other members of our respective administrations and their citizens were taking part in a full and frank exchange of views.
I believe, therefore, that I can bring several lessons learned in my most recent position in succeeding Ari Fleischer as the public face of the White House.
Obviously, the most important aspect of the job will be the ease with which I am able to communicate the administration's thoughts, opinions and policies to the news media with conviction. It is widely known in this profession that these messages may occasionally include aspects of creative interpretation of the facts, be adventurously progressive when dealing with wider international opinion and domestic law, or require the messenger to disregard their personal philosophy. You will agree, I am certain, that my evident accomplishment in this field will allow me to transfer seamlessly from my old post into the new one.
Through my work and studies I have been fortunate enough to develop a highly proficient and colourful command of the English language. Enclosed is a transcript of some of the more memorable moments from my recent press briefings. I will, of course, always be on hand to assist you in becoming ever more articulate and eloquent.
My relationship with the world press, as demonstrated in recent months, is very amiable, and I would relish the badinage with the White House press corps that is clearly such an important element of the job.
I also possess a great personal knowledge of the geography of the Middle East - an area which, I understand from my contacts, will continue to dominate the news agenda over the coming months and years. Although it would not necessarily be directly relevant to my appointed role, I would be happy to act as a special advisor on issues pertaining to the region.
And finally, the similarity in the name of the incumbent - Ari - and my nickname - Ali - means I could slip into the post without the uncomfortable name-learning period that accompanies every new appointment.
So it is my belief that my skills and experience to date have been excellent preparation for this role, and I would cherish the opportunity to work with the team that has so successfully communicated its vision to the rest of the world.
It is only common sense, then, that we build on the serendipitous nature of the situation we currently find ourselves in, and use it to build a formidable partnership. I look forward very much to working with you.
Yours sincerely,
Mohammed Saeed al-Sahhaf
P.S. Please forgive me calling you, among other things, an insane little dwarf. I hope you understand that it was merely proof of my professional dedication to the role I was then performing, and hope it will not impede my application.
26.6.03
Sometimes I just look at the US and wonder how it got into the position it occupies today.
It's been fairly widely reported that the US Supreme Court has overturned a Texan ban on sexual intercourse between two consenting adult men.
I beg your pardon? They had to do what? In the 21st century?
Although this ruling is A Good Thing, the fact that it was banned in the first place came as news to me - and I'm sure I'm not alone.
While it was always understood that the Bible Belt would look unfavourably on gay relationships, I never thought that such antiquated, bigoted legislation would be tolerated even in the most pious of states. But apparently restriction of "crimes against nature" has a very big following in certain parts of the land of the free.
Hands up all those who, before today, knew that gay sex was illegal in Texas. Or that more than a quarter of the states even see fellatio as felonious. And a few more have only become more tolerant in recent years. Like this piece said in 1998, "Go down on your date in Michigan and you could spend 15 years up the river."
Nine states ban buggering and blowjobs for everyone: Alabama, Florida, Idaho, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Utah and Virginia. Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and, until today, Texas, punish only gays. (At the risk of stereotyping the southern states, how happy am I to see Georgia missing from that list.) I'm not sure whether this distinction between straight and gay sodomy makes The Gang Of Four more or less enlightened than the other nine - or whether they're all just as
bad as each other.
But fortunately, it seems that very few of the states actively enforce the laws, and today's ruling will hopefully lead to the universal repeal of such legislation. There shouldn't be much fuss - if they ain't using 'em, why do they need 'em?
I realise that the separation of federal and state legislature is very important to many Americans, but sometimes the less enlightened need showing the way. And yes, I know that's imposing my own set of morals on others, and makes me open to allegations of being a hypocrite.
However this ruling only serves to liberate a large group of people, and for me that's a big difference. While I don't see myself as taking advantage of the change in the law, I'll happily fight for those who want to. And although I disagree with the bigots to the point of fury, I'll not see their right to hold different beliefs extinguished, just their ability to oppress other human beings.
What Cowboy George will make of this move by the people who put him in power is hard to tell. But if the Supreme Court carries on like this, then one day they may just start making up for making themselves the only nine voters who got a say in the 2000 election.
It's been fairly widely reported that the US Supreme Court has overturned a Texan ban on sexual intercourse between two consenting adult men.
I beg your pardon? They had to do what? In the 21st century?
Although this ruling is A Good Thing, the fact that it was banned in the first place came as news to me - and I'm sure I'm not alone.
While it was always understood that the Bible Belt would look unfavourably on gay relationships, I never thought that such antiquated, bigoted legislation would be tolerated even in the most pious of states. But apparently restriction of "crimes against nature" has a very big following in certain parts of the land of the free.
Hands up all those who, before today, knew that gay sex was illegal in Texas. Or that more than a quarter of the states even see fellatio as felonious. And a few more have only become more tolerant in recent years. Like this piece said in 1998, "Go down on your date in Michigan and you could spend 15 years up the river."
Nine states ban buggering and blowjobs for everyone: Alabama, Florida, Idaho, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Utah and Virginia. Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and, until today, Texas, punish only gays. (At the risk of stereotyping the southern states, how happy am I to see Georgia missing from that list.) I'm not sure whether this distinction between straight and gay sodomy makes The Gang Of Four more or less enlightened than the other nine - or whether they're all just as
bad as each other.
But fortunately, it seems that very few of the states actively enforce the laws, and today's ruling will hopefully lead to the universal repeal of such legislation. There shouldn't be much fuss - if they ain't using 'em, why do they need 'em?
I realise that the separation of federal and state legislature is very important to many Americans, but sometimes the less enlightened need showing the way. And yes, I know that's imposing my own set of morals on others, and makes me open to allegations of being a hypocrite.
However this ruling only serves to liberate a large group of people, and for me that's a big difference. While I don't see myself as taking advantage of the change in the law, I'll happily fight for those who want to. And although I disagree with the bigots to the point of fury, I'll not see their right to hold different beliefs extinguished, just their ability to oppress other human beings.
What Cowboy George will make of this move by the people who put him in power is hard to tell. But if the Supreme Court carries on like this, then one day they may just start making up for making themselves the only nine voters who got a say in the 2000 election.
24.6.03
21.6.03
This week I are been mostly...
1. Going deaf in my right ear, causing debilitating tinnitus which brought dizziness and nausea with it. Which made it impossible to concentrate. Thus difficult to blog. Hence the silence.
2. Reading Sick Puppy. To those who are virgin territory for Carl Hiaasen's way with words, I recommend an immediate deflowering.
3. Bemused by matrimonial courtesy.
4. Having dinner with Harriet Midgley, a good friend when I was eight years old, but who I've not seen or spoken to since leaving Plymouth. I recently discovered she was also in the employ of the Corporation. Given how much we've both experienced and grown in the past 23 years, plus the deafness, it's amazing how awkward it wasn't. It's probably too early to tell, but we could be friends again.
5. Feeling messy.
6. Browsing Atlanta's sporting calendar for late September and early October.
7. Not drinking. See 1. I was having enough trouble staying upright without the added complication of alcohol.
8. Being overcharged for merchandise. The idea of a Blogger-branded t-shirt appealed to me, especially at the knockdown price of $9. I was even willing to pay the extra dollar fifty to get an XXL shirt, and suspected they'd tack on a few bucks more for international shipping. But quite how Google Shop arrived at a total of $85.78, I'm not sure. Needless to say, the allure of the t-shirt quickly faded.
9. Marvelling at Rob McElwee's brilliantly enigmatic weather forecasts.
Oh, and for those who missed it, Homer held on for the win.
1. Going deaf in my right ear, causing debilitating tinnitus which brought dizziness and nausea with it. Which made it impossible to concentrate. Thus difficult to blog. Hence the silence.
2. Reading Sick Puppy. To those who are virgin territory for Carl Hiaasen's way with words, I recommend an immediate deflowering.
3. Bemused by matrimonial courtesy.
4. Having dinner with Harriet Midgley, a good friend when I was eight years old, but who I've not seen or spoken to since leaving Plymouth. I recently discovered she was also in the employ of the Corporation. Given how much we've both experienced and grown in the past 23 years, plus the deafness, it's amazing how awkward it wasn't. It's probably too early to tell, but we could be friends again.
5. Feeling messy.
6. Browsing Atlanta's sporting calendar for late September and early October.
7. Not drinking. See 1. I was having enough trouble staying upright without the added complication of alcohol.
8. Being overcharged for merchandise. The idea of a Blogger-branded t-shirt appealed to me, especially at the knockdown price of $9. I was even willing to pay the extra dollar fifty to get an XXL shirt, and suspected they'd tack on a few bucks more for international shipping. But quite how Google Shop arrived at a total of $85.78, I'm not sure. Needless to say, the allure of the t-shirt quickly faded.
9. Marvelling at Rob McElwee's brilliantly enigmatic weather forecasts.
Oh, and for those who missed it, Homer held on for the win.
15.6.03
Homer Simpson looks set to win a BBC poll for Greatest American Ever by something of a landslide. With just three days left to go, at time of writing Homer leads the voting with a score of about 47%, with Abe Lincoln and Martin Luther King coming in at two and three respectively, yet only managing less than 10% of the vote. Further down the list, George Washington trails Bob Dylan, with Bill Clinton, of all people, taking the wooden spoon. Fourth place belongs to Mr T.
It's all part of an international broadcasting project to find out what the world really thinks of America.
Personally, I like it. I respect its history (bar the war on the indigenous people and its instigation of the Cold War). I enjoy its contribution to world culture (bar Mortal Thoughts). I've got over the War of Independence. That was a very long time ago. People move on. The problem is that the place just has some wankers running it at the moment.
So I'm not sure how to take these results. Obviously the dear old yellow buffoon is deserving of our affection, but even for the online community to put him so far ahead of people like Thomas Jefferson, King, Washington, and Lincoln, you've got to think there's something slightly awry. The aforementioned were all truly great men, who did much to change the world in which they lived and shape what is arguably a great nation, despite its many imperfections. But they did more than say "D'oh!" and make the occasional accidentally sage observation. This is like us calling Benny Hill the greatest Englishman of all time. And what about Matt Groening? Or Dan Castellaneta? Without them, Homer wouldn't be half of what he is today. Or any of it, even. Why aren't they in the poll?
Oh, it's too late to make any more of this.
There's one thing to be grateful for, I suppose - at least Little Bush didn't make the shortlist.
It's all part of an international broadcasting project to find out what the world really thinks of America.
Personally, I like it. I respect its history (bar the war on the indigenous people and its instigation of the Cold War). I enjoy its contribution to world culture (bar Mortal Thoughts). I've got over the War of Independence. That was a very long time ago. People move on. The problem is that the place just has some wankers running it at the moment.
So I'm not sure how to take these results. Obviously the dear old yellow buffoon is deserving of our affection, but even for the online community to put him so far ahead of people like Thomas Jefferson, King, Washington, and Lincoln, you've got to think there's something slightly awry. The aforementioned were all truly great men, who did much to change the world in which they lived and shape what is arguably a great nation, despite its many imperfections. But they did more than say "D'oh!" and make the occasional accidentally sage observation. This is like us calling Benny Hill the greatest Englishman of all time. And what about Matt Groening? Or Dan Castellaneta? Without them, Homer wouldn't be half of what he is today. Or any of it, even. Why aren't they in the poll?
Oh, it's too late to make any more of this.
There's one thing to be grateful for, I suppose - at least Little Bush didn't make the shortlist.
12.6.03
Teatime story
Second despatch of the day, but I just thought this item from the BBC Belfast newsroom ought to be shared with a slightly wider audience. Bear with us, and you'll get tea and biscuits at the end.
Carrickfergus Council has written to every council in the UK asking for its support for an inquiry into the death of Royal Irish Regiment soldier Paul Cochrane, who shot himself at Drumard Barracks in Armagh after complaining about suffering abuse.
On behalf of Peterborough Council, its Conservative leader Neville Sanders returned the letter scribbing a message which stated that "members of the armed forces do get killed, be it by accident or design, that is what they are paid for".
The Belfast Telegraph says Mr Sanders told them he was fed up paying taxes to cover for the lazy Irish, he did not know where - in his words - poxy Carrickfergus was, and he was annoyed at the council there for wasting his time. Mr Sanders engaged in a great more invective about NI.
His remarks have clearly embarrassed Conservative Central Office - the Tories' Northern Ireland spokesman Quentin Davies said the comments attributed to Mr Sanders were revolting and would be rejected with disgust by every thinking Conservative.
It's a very, erm, original way of resigning. Nice to see The Quiet Man's policies of social inclusion are really getting through to the Conservative Party's grass roots.
Oh, and this is the website that everyone's talking about...
Second despatch of the day, but I just thought this item from the BBC Belfast newsroom ought to be shared with a slightly wider audience. Bear with us, and you'll get tea and biscuits at the end.
Carrickfergus Council has written to every council in the UK asking for its support for an inquiry into the death of Royal Irish Regiment soldier Paul Cochrane, who shot himself at Drumard Barracks in Armagh after complaining about suffering abuse.
On behalf of Peterborough Council, its Conservative leader Neville Sanders returned the letter scribbing a message which stated that "members of the armed forces do get killed, be it by accident or design, that is what they are paid for".
The Belfast Telegraph says Mr Sanders told them he was fed up paying taxes to cover for the lazy Irish, he did not know where - in his words - poxy Carrickfergus was, and he was annoyed at the council there for wasting his time. Mr Sanders engaged in a great more invective about NI.
His remarks have clearly embarrassed Conservative Central Office - the Tories' Northern Ireland spokesman Quentin Davies said the comments attributed to Mr Sanders were revolting and would be rejected with disgust by every thinking Conservative.
It's a very, erm, original way of resigning. Nice to see The Quiet Man's policies of social inclusion are really getting through to the Conservative Party's grass roots.
Oh, and this is the website that everyone's talking about...
God, I hate football. Especially international football. Especially qualifiers. They're just too painful.
Why do I put myself through the torture of events like last night? Frankly, we sucked, at least in the first half. Having David James in goal never helps. What a liability. And having a donkey running the line and disallowing good goals like Lampard's does us no favours either.
But still it seems the better-placed they are and the less significant the opposition, the worse England want to play. Sure we can take on the genius of Latin America or the traditional superpowers of Europe, but throw us an eastern European minnow and it all goes to pot. Maybe the likes of Slovakia see playing us as the chance to topple a giant. Imbeciles. Okay, we won eventually, but we had to do it the hard way.
No wonder we bloody drink...
Why do I put myself through the torture of events like last night? Frankly, we sucked, at least in the first half. Having David James in goal never helps. What a liability. And having a donkey running the line and disallowing good goals like Lampard's does us no favours either.
But still it seems the better-placed they are and the less significant the opposition, the worse England want to play. Sure we can take on the genius of Latin America or the traditional superpowers of Europe, but throw us an eastern European minnow and it all goes to pot. Maybe the likes of Slovakia see playing us as the chance to topple a giant. Imbeciles. Okay, we won eventually, but we had to do it the hard way.
No wonder we bloody drink...
10.6.03
Does this mean I get to die a painful death at the hands of a supposed friend?
You are Tank, from "The Matrix." Loyal
till the end, you spare no expense in ensuring
the well-being of others.
What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
One of the better and more accurate Quizilla quizzes I've tried. Thanks to Sam for the heads up.
Actually, despite the fact that he's not in The Matrix Reloaded, it turns out Tank didn't die as a result of Cypher's treachery and was due to appear in the sequels. But this website sheds light on a bitter feud in the production of the movies that I'd not heard before. How petty is Hollywood...
You are Tank, from "The Matrix." Loyal
till the end, you spare no expense in ensuring
the well-being of others.
What Matrix Persona Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
One of the better and more accurate Quizilla quizzes I've tried. Thanks to Sam for the heads up.
Actually, despite the fact that he's not in The Matrix Reloaded, it turns out Tank didn't die as a result of Cypher's treachery and was due to appear in the sequels. But this website sheds light on a bitter feud in the production of the movies that I'd not heard before. How petty is Hollywood...
9.6.03
The UK's Muslim community is upset about tonight's episode of BBC One's spy drama Spooks, the plot of which centres around a Birmingham mosque's attempts to run a fundamentalist terror campaign on British soil. As well as spokesmen for Muslim organisations doing the rounds talking about an unfair, imbalanced portrayal of their faith, the message boards on the show's own website have also attracted a vocal element accusing the BBC of trying to incite racial hatred.
If reports that Birmingham Central Mosque has been defaced with graffiti reading "bombers" are true, then that's deeply objectionable, an insult to the millions of law-abiding Muslims in the country, and gives both the local community and the country as a whole a great deal of cause for concern.
However, in demanding that the BBC pull the episode in question, I still can't help feeling some parts of the community are being just a little over-sensitive and unreasonable. Here we have a high-quality drama series, lauded for its tension and production values, which attempts to show all the possible threats to British security. In past episodes, the MI5 team have had to counter the dangers posed by dissident Irish republicans, Serbian warlords, murderous white supremacists, militant pro-lifers, and an al-Qaeda cell, so it's not like British Muslims are being singled out.
In order to be successful, a contemporary thriller has to be sufficiently grounded in reality to allow the audience to suspend its disbelief, while being careful not to stretch its credibility, and the threat from fundamentalist terrorists is one that the world currently has to cope with. American television is awash with it. Not only has Jack Bauer just thwarted a plot to nuke LA in 24 (we've only reached 11pm here in the UK, so no spoilers please folks) but even the sage heads in the Venerable Jed Bartlett's administration are making hawkish noises about the Middle East.
If the world situation means that Britain has to face a few uncomfortable home truths, so be it. The storyline in Spooks isn't claiming that all Muslims are bad, any more than its plot about pro-lifers claimed all Christians believed salvation lay in Semtex - indeed in tonight's episode an Algerian agent provides MI5 with the information that allows them to get their man. The show should not be seen as a rallying cry to be wary of the greater Muslim population, and especially not an excuse to run hate campaigns against them, an outcome which would only serve to divide the country, and make the minor possibility of terrorism more likely. But nor should we allow the passions aroused by discussion of religion to cloud our sight of possible threats to the UK and its people.
With incidents such as April's Tel Aviv suicide bombing, British prisoners at Camp X-Ray, shoe bomber Richard Reid, and the allegations against certain elements at the Finsbury Park mosque, it's clear that more young British Muslim men are becoming active in supporting the movements more traditionally associated with Islamic countries. With Tony Blair having angered a whole lot of people with his senseless war on Iraq, it's therefore not impossible that some day a militant group or a lone fanatic may conduct a violent act on the British mainland, however unlikely or frightening that eventuality may be.
None of this means, of course, that the debate over the episode in question can not be a good and useful thing. Discussion of the issues at stake allow all sides to state facts and dispel myths - something principally of use to the Muslim community, who still struggle to be accepted in some areas of the country. If they can use the argument to develop understanding and acceptance among the wider population, then I'm with them all the way.
One could argue that the BBC's use of a sensationalist storyline was trivialising a serious issue for ratings-grabbing hokum that risks inciting racial hatred - and there's probably a certain amount of truth in that. Even so, once we stop confronting possibilities in our popular media, we become less aware of them and, by logical conclusion, possibly more prone. At the risk of sounding like Blair, this kind of thing helps the public remain vigilant against the threats we all face.
Edge of Darkness in the 80s probably did more than most to stress the danger posed by nuclear weapons. Who could argue that was not a good thing? Similarly, if the row over this episode of a trivial TV show allows mosques across the country to examine whether their communities are being used for purposes of a less than holy nature, surely that too is something that must be done.
If reports that Birmingham Central Mosque has been defaced with graffiti reading "bombers" are true, then that's deeply objectionable, an insult to the millions of law-abiding Muslims in the country, and gives both the local community and the country as a whole a great deal of cause for concern.
However, in demanding that the BBC pull the episode in question, I still can't help feeling some parts of the community are being just a little over-sensitive and unreasonable. Here we have a high-quality drama series, lauded for its tension and production values, which attempts to show all the possible threats to British security. In past episodes, the MI5 team have had to counter the dangers posed by dissident Irish republicans, Serbian warlords, murderous white supremacists, militant pro-lifers, and an al-Qaeda cell, so it's not like British Muslims are being singled out.
In order to be successful, a contemporary thriller has to be sufficiently grounded in reality to allow the audience to suspend its disbelief, while being careful not to stretch its credibility, and the threat from fundamentalist terrorists is one that the world currently has to cope with. American television is awash with it. Not only has Jack Bauer just thwarted a plot to nuke LA in 24 (we've only reached 11pm here in the UK, so no spoilers please folks) but even the sage heads in the Venerable Jed Bartlett's administration are making hawkish noises about the Middle East.
If the world situation means that Britain has to face a few uncomfortable home truths, so be it. The storyline in Spooks isn't claiming that all Muslims are bad, any more than its plot about pro-lifers claimed all Christians believed salvation lay in Semtex - indeed in tonight's episode an Algerian agent provides MI5 with the information that allows them to get their man. The show should not be seen as a rallying cry to be wary of the greater Muslim population, and especially not an excuse to run hate campaigns against them, an outcome which would only serve to divide the country, and make the minor possibility of terrorism more likely. But nor should we allow the passions aroused by discussion of religion to cloud our sight of possible threats to the UK and its people.
With incidents such as April's Tel Aviv suicide bombing, British prisoners at Camp X-Ray, shoe bomber Richard Reid, and the allegations against certain elements at the Finsbury Park mosque, it's clear that more young British Muslim men are becoming active in supporting the movements more traditionally associated with Islamic countries. With Tony Blair having angered a whole lot of people with his senseless war on Iraq, it's therefore not impossible that some day a militant group or a lone fanatic may conduct a violent act on the British mainland, however unlikely or frightening that eventuality may be.
None of this means, of course, that the debate over the episode in question can not be a good and useful thing. Discussion of the issues at stake allow all sides to state facts and dispel myths - something principally of use to the Muslim community, who still struggle to be accepted in some areas of the country. If they can use the argument to develop understanding and acceptance among the wider population, then I'm with them all the way.
One could argue that the BBC's use of a sensationalist storyline was trivialising a serious issue for ratings-grabbing hokum that risks inciting racial hatred - and there's probably a certain amount of truth in that. Even so, once we stop confronting possibilities in our popular media, we become less aware of them and, by logical conclusion, possibly more prone. At the risk of sounding like Blair, this kind of thing helps the public remain vigilant against the threats we all face.
Edge of Darkness in the 80s probably did more than most to stress the danger posed by nuclear weapons. Who could argue that was not a good thing? Similarly, if the row over this episode of a trivial TV show allows mosques across the country to examine whether their communities are being used for purposes of a less than holy nature, surely that too is something that must be done.
7.6.03
One of the greatest perks of my job is the opportunity to flirt with some of the weather girls who record the bulletins for our Interactive Television service. One can easily and anonymously employ wit, charm, sophistication, an occasional smidge of intrigue, and lashings of shameless flattery from the other end of a telephone line and get the instant gratification of seeing their reactions on camera. The voice can lie, but the eyes never do. It's so much easier than making cack-handed attempts at building real-life relationships.
Speaking of which, things seem to be back on an even keel.
Romantically speaking, The Woman is very much a thing of the past. Her recent troubles have allowed me to bury my previous confusion and focus on our friendship. They've also led to a significant adaptation in the way she acts towards me, which made my job all the more easy. We should be good friends.
The Propositioned is also gradually coming back into line. I can't help but feel that despite us assuring each other we were fine with what happened, she feels like she has to handle me with kid gloves. Asking if I'm okay, she seems to employ a little more concern in her voice than before the party. It's unnecessary, though, cos I still think she's great regardless of the scenario. I'm not about to get hung up on a drunken whim. She should just lean back and enjoy the ride.
I suppose, though, that what I'm missing at the moment is the instant access to a close female friend that I've been so used to throughout my life. I know I'm lucky to have so many women I can think of as close, but either they tend to be hundreds of miles away, or far too busy with their own lives to see that much of me. There's always been a girl who's been a rock for me, and for whom I've been a trusted, privileged confidante in return. And despite the fact that I think of certain people at work as good friends whom I trust, different people's shift patterns are so disparate that I don't believe many colleagues in our line of work can develop a close, lasting bond.
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm feeling a little low. Or maybe I'm just different now.
Don't think of this as a wallow though. I'm fine. After all, I've got my weather girls.
Speaking of which, things seem to be back on an even keel.
Romantically speaking, The Woman is very much a thing of the past. Her recent troubles have allowed me to bury my previous confusion and focus on our friendship. They've also led to a significant adaptation in the way she acts towards me, which made my job all the more easy. We should be good friends.
The Propositioned is also gradually coming back into line. I can't help but feel that despite us assuring each other we were fine with what happened, she feels like she has to handle me with kid gloves. Asking if I'm okay, she seems to employ a little more concern in her voice than before the party. It's unnecessary, though, cos I still think she's great regardless of the scenario. I'm not about to get hung up on a drunken whim. She should just lean back and enjoy the ride.
I suppose, though, that what I'm missing at the moment is the instant access to a close female friend that I've been so used to throughout my life. I know I'm lucky to have so many women I can think of as close, but either they tend to be hundreds of miles away, or far too busy with their own lives to see that much of me. There's always been a girl who's been a rock for me, and for whom I've been a trusted, privileged confidante in return. And despite the fact that I think of certain people at work as good friends whom I trust, different people's shift patterns are so disparate that I don't believe many colleagues in our line of work can develop a close, lasting bond.
But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm feeling a little low. Or maybe I'm just different now.
Don't think of this as a wallow though. I'm fine. After all, I've got my weather girls.
3.6.03
"Come to Edinburgh for my stag night," said Alex. This was an invitation from an old chum who'd finally, after much searching and lack of luck, found the love of his life. How could I say no?
It all seemed so civilised in the afternoon, a dozen of us chaps driving up country for a couple of hours shooting clays. Granted, it was nothing I'd done before but, after overcoming initial nerves and a bad start, I managed to hit slightly fewer than half the targets. Not championship quality, but not too embarrassing either. And despite not being your regular shootin' type, I got something of a kick from the whole event.
Suddenly I saw the allure of the shotgun. Upon leaving the site, everything - moving or stationary - became a target, or could have done had I still been in possession of a gun. And far from softening my stance on gun control, it's probably strengthened it. Live ammunition is intoxicating, and that's as strong an argument for cracking down on gun ownership as I've heard. But by gum, that buzz...
Naturally, having not been allowed to be under the influence while using weaponry, upon our return to Leith we felt we had some catching up to do. After several beers and double Aftershocks (my goodness, what were we thinking? That drink surely has to be the most foul, evil concoction ever devised), we headed off to the esteemed Scotch Malt Whisky Society for a tasting and dinner. This was the top of a very slippery slope.
The poor lady who took the tasting in our private room should have sensed something bad in the air as she battled the heckling and questions in her effort to teach us about several fine whiskies. Despite the fact that a few including myself were eager to learn, the majority - shamefully - had no taste and no time for the water of life. And when Suzie finally reached the end of her presentation and left us alone, all hope was lost.
The groom could not remember anything after the first bite of his starter, including giving his pudding a rather unpalatable side order. The stripper, unsurprisingly, was not allowed into the society's rooms, collecting her fee in the car park without having to work for it, presumably having grounds to accuse the Best Man of breach of contract. The bar stopped serving us well before we'd drunk our allotted amount of booze.
And most fortunately and unfortunately by turn, the bills were thankfully paid before someone, either by mistake or by design, removed a holding clip or two from the table's underside, causing half of it to collapse, sending heaven knows how much glass and crockery smashing to the ground, and strewing bottles of red wine across the plush carpet. With the society having shown extreme restraint and good nature in allowing us to stay after the groom's unorthodox reaction to the chocolate pudding, our desecration of their tasting room was too much to take, and we quickly understood that our presence was no longer required.
And there I must draw a veil across the rest of the evening, for your own protection as much as that of some of those present...
I've not been on too many stag nights in my time, but I like to think that they've all been memorable, if not unique. For instance, there was Joseph's, which started with pitched warfare and ended up with me and the groom feeling the love (it was a harmless kiss as a favour for a very old friend). Then came Dunc's, which maybe he didn't enjoy so much, but there's no doubt about how good a time his bride had.
Excellent, unforgettable nights both but they do, I confess, feel somewhat muted when compared with the carnage of last weekend in Edinburgh.
But golly, we had fun.
Epilogue: Within 48 hours, the Best Man had had his membership of the Whisky Society revoked. I don't believe he'll be appealing this decision.
It all seemed so civilised in the afternoon, a dozen of us chaps driving up country for a couple of hours shooting clays. Granted, it was nothing I'd done before but, after overcoming initial nerves and a bad start, I managed to hit slightly fewer than half the targets. Not championship quality, but not too embarrassing either. And despite not being your regular shootin' type, I got something of a kick from the whole event.
Suddenly I saw the allure of the shotgun. Upon leaving the site, everything - moving or stationary - became a target, or could have done had I still been in possession of a gun. And far from softening my stance on gun control, it's probably strengthened it. Live ammunition is intoxicating, and that's as strong an argument for cracking down on gun ownership as I've heard. But by gum, that buzz...
Naturally, having not been allowed to be under the influence while using weaponry, upon our return to Leith we felt we had some catching up to do. After several beers and double Aftershocks (my goodness, what were we thinking? That drink surely has to be the most foul, evil concoction ever devised), we headed off to the esteemed Scotch Malt Whisky Society for a tasting and dinner. This was the top of a very slippery slope.
The poor lady who took the tasting in our private room should have sensed something bad in the air as she battled the heckling and questions in her effort to teach us about several fine whiskies. Despite the fact that a few including myself were eager to learn, the majority - shamefully - had no taste and no time for the water of life. And when Suzie finally reached the end of her presentation and left us alone, all hope was lost.
The groom could not remember anything after the first bite of his starter, including giving his pudding a rather unpalatable side order. The stripper, unsurprisingly, was not allowed into the society's rooms, collecting her fee in the car park without having to work for it, presumably having grounds to accuse the Best Man of breach of contract. The bar stopped serving us well before we'd drunk our allotted amount of booze.
And most fortunately and unfortunately by turn, the bills were thankfully paid before someone, either by mistake or by design, removed a holding clip or two from the table's underside, causing half of it to collapse, sending heaven knows how much glass and crockery smashing to the ground, and strewing bottles of red wine across the plush carpet. With the society having shown extreme restraint and good nature in allowing us to stay after the groom's unorthodox reaction to the chocolate pudding, our desecration of their tasting room was too much to take, and we quickly understood that our presence was no longer required.
And there I must draw a veil across the rest of the evening, for your own protection as much as that of some of those present...
I've not been on too many stag nights in my time, but I like to think that they've all been memorable, if not unique. For instance, there was Joseph's, which started with pitched warfare and ended up with me and the groom feeling the love (it was a harmless kiss as a favour for a very old friend). Then came Dunc's, which maybe he didn't enjoy so much, but there's no doubt about how good a time his bride had.
Excellent, unforgettable nights both but they do, I confess, feel somewhat muted when compared with the carnage of last weekend in Edinburgh.
But golly, we had fun.
Epilogue: Within 48 hours, the Best Man had had his membership of the Whisky Society revoked. I don't believe he'll be appealing this decision.
2.6.03
27.5.03
Before I let Nightshift Ben take over, I just want to share a bit of news. Saturday night saw me break my 10-year vow of silence.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I'd been trying to kick The Three from my system, and leave myself unafflicted by fancying anyone. Well, I managed two of The Three with ease, but the last one was proving much more difficult to exorcise. So at my birthday party on Saturday night it occurred to me that an alternative ending might be possible with a forthright but gentle wooing, so helped by a good dose of Dutch courage (but not too much), I took the remaining person aside and suggested we might have a drink sometime.
"As friends?" she asked.
"Umm, as more than friends," I admitted.
"Ah..."
"Oh."
"I'm very flattered but..."
"Well, I had to ask. You don't ask, you don't get."
"No," she smiled.
"So just as friends then?"
"That would be nice."
There then followed the familiar conversation about being too nice and liking bastards and all the same old guff that I've become so well attuned to, as well as the novelty value of being told they were enjoying being single. And none of which is the slightest consolation.
An initial feeling of stoicism - sometimes even bordering on defiant optimism which told me (but of course not her) she was making a mistake - was followed by a day feeling foolish and sheepish, even imagining headlines on News Online along the lines of "Horror in west London as Ben dares to ask attractive woman out: victim tells all".
So finally after ten years of not popping the question, the last good few being told I needed to be more adventurous and chance my arm a little more, I find someone I'm willing to risk getting shot down for, decide to act on an impulse when everyone's relaxed and... end up with just the same answer I was getting 10 years ago. I'd tried to act on an attraction before it got out of control, and yet end up feeling just as bad as - possibly worse than - the last time.
What I don't understand, what makes me by turns angry, confused, frustrated, and depressed - all emotions I've experienced in the last 24 hours - is why they always say no. What is it about me? What's so wrong about lovely or nice or sweet? What's so unattractive about being a good guy and so attractive about bastards? None of this "They just are" shit. I want answers.
(I should, of course, point out that none of this is directed at the person in question, but rather at the world in general. As for she who shall remain nameless, I hope neither our professional relationship nor our fledgling friendship will suffer as the result of my suggesting something more.)
One of my favourite ploys when people are feeling hung over is to encourage them to "get back on the horse" and have another drink. I suppose I just need to take my advice and get back on the woman horse, if that can be said without causing too much offence. It's just that as I'm so used to getting my fingers burnt, it'll probably take me a while to allow myself to fancy someone again, never mind ask them out. Rejection is no fun - that's why I've exiled myself from asking people out for the last decade - and sad though it sounds, I can't see any sign of there ever being a different answer.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I'd been trying to kick The Three from my system, and leave myself unafflicted by fancying anyone. Well, I managed two of The Three with ease, but the last one was proving much more difficult to exorcise. So at my birthday party on Saturday night it occurred to me that an alternative ending might be possible with a forthright but gentle wooing, so helped by a good dose of Dutch courage (but not too much), I took the remaining person aside and suggested we might have a drink sometime.
"As friends?" she asked.
"Umm, as more than friends," I admitted.
"Ah..."
"Oh."
"I'm very flattered but..."
"Well, I had to ask. You don't ask, you don't get."
"No," she smiled.
"So just as friends then?"
"That would be nice."
There then followed the familiar conversation about being too nice and liking bastards and all the same old guff that I've become so well attuned to, as well as the novelty value of being told they were enjoying being single. And none of which is the slightest consolation.
An initial feeling of stoicism - sometimes even bordering on defiant optimism which told me (but of course not her) she was making a mistake - was followed by a day feeling foolish and sheepish, even imagining headlines on News Online along the lines of "Horror in west London as Ben dares to ask attractive woman out: victim tells all".
So finally after ten years of not popping the question, the last good few being told I needed to be more adventurous and chance my arm a little more, I find someone I'm willing to risk getting shot down for, decide to act on an impulse when everyone's relaxed and... end up with just the same answer I was getting 10 years ago. I'd tried to act on an attraction before it got out of control, and yet end up feeling just as bad as - possibly worse than - the last time.
What I don't understand, what makes me by turns angry, confused, frustrated, and depressed - all emotions I've experienced in the last 24 hours - is why they always say no. What is it about me? What's so wrong about lovely or nice or sweet? What's so unattractive about being a good guy and so attractive about bastards? None of this "They just are" shit. I want answers.
(I should, of course, point out that none of this is directed at the person in question, but rather at the world in general. As for she who shall remain nameless, I hope neither our professional relationship nor our fledgling friendship will suffer as the result of my suggesting something more.)
One of my favourite ploys when people are feeling hung over is to encourage them to "get back on the horse" and have another drink. I suppose I just need to take my advice and get back on the woman horse, if that can be said without causing too much offence. It's just that as I'm so used to getting my fingers burnt, it'll probably take me a while to allow myself to fancy someone again, never mind ask them out. Rejection is no fun - that's why I've exiled myself from asking people out for the last decade - and sad though it sounds, I can't see any sign of there ever being a different answer.
26.5.03
20.5.03
One of my favourite things is finding out who else I share a birthday with. There are one or two people I've known for several years, but this year I've made an effort to expand the field. So...
Happy Birthday Cher. Maybe we could have a joint party at Oliver's Wharf sometime. The people in 1D are first class. Just promise not to bring your vocoder. Unless you're paying, that is.
Happy Birthday Jane Wiedlin. Hope the rush hour doesn't delay your celebrations. Geddit?!
Happy Birthday Ron Reagan Jr. You can't be held responsible for your father. But don't think he's getting any of my cake.
Happy Birthday Holly Black, star of Operation Sex Siege.
Happy Birthday Louis Theroux. Respect. But why did you look so miserable on your bike chatting to the bloke by the pelican crossing by White City tube?
Happy Birthday Busta Rhymes. You sold out East Coast hip-hop with your gangster vibe. Even though we share the exact date of birth, don't think you're invited to any more parties until you peace out, man.
And last, but by no means least, my all-time favourite birthday sharer... Happy Birthday Bronson Pinchot. Ladies and gentlemen - an actor who defines kitsch appeal.
Bronson, your roles in True Romance, Beverly Hills Cop (both I and III), as the eponymous blunderer in Blame It On The Bellboy, and Dumb and Dumber: The TV Series. are all very fine, but for me, none of them can touch your work in Perfect Strangers.
How many mornings did I manage to avoid revising because of your "hilarious" japes caused by your lack of understanding of the English language? Those are days I will treasure for ever.
Happy Birthday Balki!
Happy Birthday Cher. Maybe we could have a joint party at Oliver's Wharf sometime. The people in 1D are first class. Just promise not to bring your vocoder. Unless you're paying, that is.
Happy Birthday Jane Wiedlin. Hope the rush hour doesn't delay your celebrations. Geddit?!
Happy Birthday Ron Reagan Jr. You can't be held responsible for your father. But don't think he's getting any of my cake.
Happy Birthday Holly Black, star of Operation Sex Siege.
Happy Birthday Louis Theroux. Respect. But why did you look so miserable on your bike chatting to the bloke by the pelican crossing by White City tube?
Happy Birthday Busta Rhymes. You sold out East Coast hip-hop with your gangster vibe. Even though we share the exact date of birth, don't think you're invited to any more parties until you peace out, man.
And last, but by no means least, my all-time favourite birthday sharer... Happy Birthday Bronson Pinchot. Ladies and gentlemen - an actor who defines kitsch appeal.
Bronson, your roles in True Romance, Beverly Hills Cop (both I and III), as the eponymous blunderer in Blame It On The Bellboy, and Dumb and Dumber: The TV Series. are all very fine, but for me, none of them can touch your work in Perfect Strangers.
How many mornings did I manage to avoid revising because of your "hilarious" japes caused by your lack of understanding of the English language? Those are days I will treasure for ever.
Happy Birthday Balki!
Not a good first birthday present received upon awakening.
According to widespread reports, Newcastle United are about to sign Lee Bowyer on a free from West Ham, possibly on a five-year contract.
I usually get excited about the acquisition of a new player. This one fills me with dread and despondency. Yes, the man was found not guilty of participation in a racist attack... but the air of questionable morality and enlightment has followed him throughout his career. He's also serving a six-match European ban for stamping on someone's head while playing for Leeds. In the words of Ann Widdecombe, he has "something of the night" about him.
I don't believe we need him. I know I don't want him. And I know I'm not alone.
Oh, and it's raining.
I hope that the rumours are untrue. I also hope today gets better than this.
According to widespread reports, Newcastle United are about to sign Lee Bowyer on a free from West Ham, possibly on a five-year contract.
I usually get excited about the acquisition of a new player. This one fills me with dread and despondency. Yes, the man was found not guilty of participation in a racist attack... but the air of questionable morality and enlightment has followed him throughout his career. He's also serving a six-match European ban for stamping on someone's head while playing for Leeds. In the words of Ann Widdecombe, he has "something of the night" about him.
I don't believe we need him. I know I don't want him. And I know I'm not alone.
Oh, and it's raining.
I hope that the rumours are untrue. I also hope today gets better than this.
19.5.03
So there's this school in Northampton that has decided to ban parents from attending its annual sports day on the grounds that some children would find the competitive nature of the event "embarrassing". Instead they want to introduce something more "activity-based" and enjoyable to all, while mostly removing the edge of competition.
I'm very sorry, but in the all too predictable words of at least one parent, "This is political correctness gone mad".
Why? Well, I'm pretty certain that the largely ineffective nature of the UK's national sports teams can be at least partly attributed to the move away from competitive activities that emerged about 20 years ago. It had started to look like the trend had been reversed, but now the backlash against the backlash appears to have begun.
This is not a good thing.
Every child should be put through the ritual humiliation of sporting failure in front of their peer group and parents - it's character building... erm, probably. I speak as someone who endured plenty during my school career. Otherwise how will we distinguish those with athletic aptitude from those with none? The earlier you catch 'em, the sooner you can start their proper training - look to tennis for the examples of the Williams sisters and Jelena Dokic. Sure they've got raw talent, but they started concentrating on their sport while still young. The later you leave it, the less nurture will have an effect on nature.
Anyway, it's what you do after the race or match that counts as much as anything. I desperately wanted to win my sports day races at primary school. I came last every time. And even though the passion to compete and the frustration at my ineptitude never totally faded, it did mean I was able to realise where my strengths really lay.
So if we want top sportsmen and women, we have to be prepared to let our youngsters fail. It's those who bounce back from defeat or build on victory who will really make the difference.
In the day's other big story, the balding, bespectacled face of the Bush administration, Ari Fleischer, announced that he is stepping aside later this year.
"I informed President Bush last week that after 21 years of doing nothing but government and politics ... that I have decided that my time has come to leave the White House. And I will leave later this summer, most likely in July," Fleischer said.
Although I've never had any truck with the message he's been required to feed the world, I've come to grudgingly admire him as Bush's medium. In this profession there are certain people one becomes familiar with or fond of, based on prolonged exposure, and I must admit Ari's one of them. Like Dunc said, he's undoubtedly a bright guy who's come out to bat for Little Bush for on one unpalatable or awkward issue after another. Although he said his belief in the current president was "deep" let's hope he's leaving cos he just can't take any more of the crap that he's having to feed the American people.
Rarely can the office of Press Secretary have so vitally needed an articulate, intelligent incumbent as it does now. When it appears that Dubya can't even answer an unexpected question on issues of significance without a script, a strong frontman does the Bush administration the power of good. Unfortunately.
If it wasn't for the fact that she'd be working for such a rotten man, the campaign to appoint Alison Janney as Ari's successor would start here. But maybe we should save her for someone more deserving...
I'm very sorry, but in the all too predictable words of at least one parent, "This is political correctness gone mad".
Why? Well, I'm pretty certain that the largely ineffective nature of the UK's national sports teams can be at least partly attributed to the move away from competitive activities that emerged about 20 years ago. It had started to look like the trend had been reversed, but now the backlash against the backlash appears to have begun.
This is not a good thing.
Every child should be put through the ritual humiliation of sporting failure in front of their peer group and parents - it's character building... erm, probably. I speak as someone who endured plenty during my school career. Otherwise how will we distinguish those with athletic aptitude from those with none? The earlier you catch 'em, the sooner you can start their proper training - look to tennis for the examples of the Williams sisters and Jelena Dokic. Sure they've got raw talent, but they started concentrating on their sport while still young. The later you leave it, the less nurture will have an effect on nature.
Anyway, it's what you do after the race or match that counts as much as anything. I desperately wanted to win my sports day races at primary school. I came last every time. And even though the passion to compete and the frustration at my ineptitude never totally faded, it did mean I was able to realise where my strengths really lay.
So if we want top sportsmen and women, we have to be prepared to let our youngsters fail. It's those who bounce back from defeat or build on victory who will really make the difference.
In the day's other big story, the balding, bespectacled face of the Bush administration, Ari Fleischer, announced that he is stepping aside later this year.
"I informed President Bush last week that after 21 years of doing nothing but government and politics ... that I have decided that my time has come to leave the White House. And I will leave later this summer, most likely in July," Fleischer said.
Although I've never had any truck with the message he's been required to feed the world, I've come to grudgingly admire him as Bush's medium. In this profession there are certain people one becomes familiar with or fond of, based on prolonged exposure, and I must admit Ari's one of them. Like Dunc said, he's undoubtedly a bright guy who's come out to bat for Little Bush for on one unpalatable or awkward issue after another. Although he said his belief in the current president was "deep" let's hope he's leaving cos he just can't take any more of the crap that he's having to feed the American people.
Rarely can the office of Press Secretary have so vitally needed an articulate, intelligent incumbent as it does now. When it appears that Dubya can't even answer an unexpected question on issues of significance without a script, a strong frontman does the Bush administration the power of good. Unfortunately.
If it wasn't for the fact that she'd be working for such a rotten man, the campaign to appoint Alison Janney as Ari's successor would start here. But maybe we should save her for someone more deserving...
16.5.03
Well, the days have caught up with me and once more I'll be imprisoned in my night shift, making sure Ben's hair is done overnight and relieving the day boys when they tax Ben's body and mind too much and he needs to sleep. There's two of them on duty at any one time, you realise, and they still have the audacity to complain about their work. They don't even have to do their own thinking either, as the brain runs during the day. Due to economy measures, they switch the brain off overnight. But me, I cope fine on my own, even when faced with a fully operational body like this past week. Charming! Come the glorious day...
So what have we learned these past few nights? Three things.
One, that tequila with a worm is wrong.
Two, that had Ben been fully appreciative of Charlie's Angels in their heyday, he'd have been a Kate Jackson man.
And Three, that no matter how long you work in news, it can never cease to surprise you how on any given day one story can eerily be connected to another.
I'll be back the week after next, due to some freak rota accident. In the meantime, I'm sure plain old Ben will do you just fine.
Lots of love,
Nightshift Ben
So what have we learned these past few nights? Three things.
One, that tequila with a worm is wrong.
Two, that had Ben been fully appreciative of Charlie's Angels in their heyday, he'd have been a Kate Jackson man.
And Three, that no matter how long you work in news, it can never cease to surprise you how on any given day one story can eerily be connected to another.
I'll be back the week after next, due to some freak rota accident. In the meantime, I'm sure plain old Ben will do you just fine.
Lots of love,
Nightshift Ben
As promised, if you ask, I, Nightshift Ben, will answer.
James from Portland, Oregon, writes with a question:
Why do they put worms at the bottom of a bottle of tequila (as if tequila wasn't nasty enough by itself)?
Well James, it's good to hear from you, and also to know that the youth of today have such inquisitive minds. I think I can answer this one with the minimum amount of research.
A quick throw to Jeeves, and indeed, he guides me to The Straight Dope, which provides this answer:
Okay, first things first: If you are buying tequila with worms in it, it's a fake. Take it back and demand a refund. The worms are only found in a particular type of mezcal, and while tequila is a type of mezcal, it's not the type with the worm in it. The kind with the worm is known as "mezcal con gusano." The worm itself, Hipopta agavis, lives in the stems of agave plants (the plant from which mezcal is made) and is a bright coral color. They are apparently fairly difficult to find, so some mezcal makers are replacing the true worm with a fake--the Atrovirens, a white worm which lives in the leaves of the agave plant. They are different in flavor, smell, and color, and the original is considered superior. You can easily tell the difference by color (and who knows, maybe by the taste). While the coral colored worms will become paler the longer they sit, they won't ever become completely washed out. The worm was originally put into mezcal as proof of alcohol content, but apparently it also alters the taste of the liquor, as well as the color and smell.
As for why it's "cool" to eat the worm, well, it used to be considered an aphrodisiac that blessed warriors with strength and virility. These days, it's pretty much just for the kick. The alcohol kick, I mean, not the kick your friends get out of seeing you suck down a dead worm.
La Universidad de Tequila seems to corroborate this, as well as providing many more facts about tequila and cocktail recipes that use the stuff.
My own opinion of the worm thing is that it's a test to see how trolleyed drinkers are. If they go for the worm, they must be pretty far gone.
But just to recap - if it's labelled tequila and has a worm in it, it's not kosher. If it's labelled mezcal and contains a worm, on the other hand, it's good stuff.
Not that tequila's not good, and I'm not unacquainted with the tipple myself, having had to deal with the aftermath on more than one occasion. I happen to know that Ben has a real penchant for a good margarita, and could tell you a story about Ben's first experience with tequila at university (his shoes needed cleaning, that all I'll say), as well as a glorious night during the 98 World Cup when England beat Colombia and Ben, Dunc and Caroline celebrated every goal with a shot.
Happy days.
But my time grows short, for the day boys will be back in charge tomorrow. Any more for any more?
James from Portland, Oregon, writes with a question:
Why do they put worms at the bottom of a bottle of tequila (as if tequila wasn't nasty enough by itself)?
Well James, it's good to hear from you, and also to know that the youth of today have such inquisitive minds. I think I can answer this one with the minimum amount of research.
A quick throw to Jeeves, and indeed, he guides me to The Straight Dope, which provides this answer:
Okay, first things first: If you are buying tequila with worms in it, it's a fake. Take it back and demand a refund. The worms are only found in a particular type of mezcal, and while tequila is a type of mezcal, it's not the type with the worm in it. The kind with the worm is known as "mezcal con gusano." The worm itself, Hipopta agavis, lives in the stems of agave plants (the plant from which mezcal is made) and is a bright coral color. They are apparently fairly difficult to find, so some mezcal makers are replacing the true worm with a fake--the Atrovirens, a white worm which lives in the leaves of the agave plant. They are different in flavor, smell, and color, and the original is considered superior. You can easily tell the difference by color (and who knows, maybe by the taste). While the coral colored worms will become paler the longer they sit, they won't ever become completely washed out. The worm was originally put into mezcal as proof of alcohol content, but apparently it also alters the taste of the liquor, as well as the color and smell.
As for why it's "cool" to eat the worm, well, it used to be considered an aphrodisiac that blessed warriors with strength and virility. These days, it's pretty much just for the kick. The alcohol kick, I mean, not the kick your friends get out of seeing you suck down a dead worm.
La Universidad de Tequila seems to corroborate this, as well as providing many more facts about tequila and cocktail recipes that use the stuff.
My own opinion of the worm thing is that it's a test to see how trolleyed drinkers are. If they go for the worm, they must be pretty far gone.
But just to recap - if it's labelled tequila and has a worm in it, it's not kosher. If it's labelled mezcal and contains a worm, on the other hand, it's good stuff.
Not that tequila's not good, and I'm not unacquainted with the tipple myself, having had to deal with the aftermath on more than one occasion. I happen to know that Ben has a real penchant for a good margarita, and could tell you a story about Ben's first experience with tequila at university (his shoes needed cleaning, that all I'll say), as well as a glorious night during the 98 World Cup when England beat Colombia and Ben, Dunc and Caroline celebrated every goal with a shot.
Happy days.
But my time grows short, for the day boys will be back in charge tomorrow. Any more for any more?
14.5.03
Hello. My name is Nightshift Ben. Some of you may remember my ramblings from a little earlier this year, but for those unacquainted with me, I'll treat you to a brief introduction. As my title implies, I staff Ben during the dark hours, when he's asleep, so that the two operators who staff the body during the day can have a little R&R. Normally my duties are restricted to making sure Ben gets a decent amount of exercise during the night, and that his hair is fixed in a suitably flamboyant fashion in time for when he wakes. This I enjoy, as it lets me express my creative nature.
But occasionally Ben has to work overnight, and as the day boys charge extra for every hour they work between midnight and six, I get set loose on the internet site of a major world broadcaster.
I'd also like to take advantage of this opportunity to dispel a few myths about the body you know as Ben, and the first revelation is that he is an addict. Since downloading a version of Tetris for his mobile phone, he just can't get enough, especially now he's getting close to the magic 200 mark. For many of his waking hours, his mind's eye is filled with images of geometric shapes falling into place to better prepare him for the next assault on his target. The adrenaline rush on Tuesday night as he notched up a mighty score of 192 - just one more than his previous high score, but still one nearer the next goal - was quite intoxicating and even had me feeling a high. And the fact he no longer has a double-figure score on his high score board is actually a matter of pride. If this continues much longer, we may have to perform an intervention.
However, if there's anything you'd like me to tell you about the Ben you think you know, the inside info you think he's been hiding, just drop me a line. I'll be here until Friday morning, so get your questions in quick and I'll do my best to answer all I can before the day boys resume control.
But occasionally Ben has to work overnight, and as the day boys charge extra for every hour they work between midnight and six, I get set loose on the internet site of a major world broadcaster.
I'd also like to take advantage of this opportunity to dispel a few myths about the body you know as Ben, and the first revelation is that he is an addict. Since downloading a version of Tetris for his mobile phone, he just can't get enough, especially now he's getting close to the magic 200 mark. For many of his waking hours, his mind's eye is filled with images of geometric shapes falling into place to better prepare him for the next assault on his target. The adrenaline rush on Tuesday night as he notched up a mighty score of 192 - just one more than his previous high score, but still one nearer the next goal - was quite intoxicating and even had me feeling a high. And the fact he no longer has a double-figure score on his high score board is actually a matter of pride. If this continues much longer, we may have to perform an intervention.
However, if there's anything you'd like me to tell you about the Ben you think you know, the inside info you think he's been hiding, just drop me a line. I'll be here until Friday morning, so get your questions in quick and I'll do my best to answer all I can before the day boys resume control.
11.5.03
Extraordinary (in the proper sense of the word) sight tonight on the way back from Robin's tonight (two or three of Brenda's lights were on again - how does she afford the electricity at 2.30 in the morning?) after spending a great evening with the Evanses, my surrogate family (not that I need a surrogate - my own is wonderful - but how often do you meet a whole family of non-blood relatives with whom you can feel totally relaxed, utterly confident, and love unconditionally?).
There were, in the middle of the night, literally thousands of men and women (though mostly the latter) walking alongside the Thames to bring aid and awareness to breast cancer, in the hope that what they were doing may fund the financing of a cure. What magnificent people.
Not wishing to make a gender issue of it (men get breast cancer too) but where are the marches for prostate cancer? And testicular cancer? And, for that matter, ovarian cancer? Why aren't the men out there on the streets? There's no shame in admitting you only have one ball, or that a medical doctor's stuck his finger up your arse to check your health. So why don't we encourage more to do it?
This predominantly young crowd had given up their Saturday night to bring the public's attention to the sreiousness of breast cancer. Men should get off their backsides and do the same, or face the consequences.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm really quite drunk and have to sleep...
There were, in the middle of the night, literally thousands of men and women (though mostly the latter) walking alongside the Thames to bring aid and awareness to breast cancer, in the hope that what they were doing may fund the financing of a cure. What magnificent people.
Not wishing to make a gender issue of it (men get breast cancer too) but where are the marches for prostate cancer? And testicular cancer? And, for that matter, ovarian cancer? Why aren't the men out there on the streets? There's no shame in admitting you only have one ball, or that a medical doctor's stuck his finger up your arse to check your health. So why don't we encourage more to do it?
This predominantly young crowd had given up their Saturday night to bring the public's attention to the sreiousness of breast cancer. Men should get off their backsides and do the same, or face the consequences.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm really quite drunk and have to sleep...
8.5.03
Here's a story that's not had that much exposure outside London. Just thought some of the Friends Of Bush gathered here might like to see what the notorious Red Ken: Scourge of London Town has been saying about our beloved Dubya:
MAYOR ATTACKS BUSH
By Press Association News Reporters
London mayor Ken Livingstone today launched an outspoken attack on "corrupt" US President George Bush.
Veteran left-winger Mr Livingstone said he was as keen to see Mr Bush ousted as he was to see Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein go.
The mayor's outburst was condemned by Conservatives who warned it could put Americans off of visiting London.
It came as Mr Livingstone took questions from 200 schoolchildren visiting City Hall this morning, London's Evening Standard said.
Channel 4's Krishnan Guru-Murphy, who was chairing the meeting, asked the mayor to explain why he had made a personal attack on Mr Bush when he disliked answering personal questions.
The Mayor said: "I think George Bush is the most corrupt American president since Harding in the Twenties. He is not the legitimate president."
Mr Livingstone later added: "This really is a completely unsupportable government and I look forward to it being overthrown as much as I looked forward to Saddam Hussein being overthrown."
When the BBC's Rob Watson raised the issue with Press Secretary Ari Fleischer at the daily White House briefing, George's Metatron said: "First of all I've never heard of the fella. Second of all I'm not going to dignify it with a response." As a colleague wisely observed,"CJ would have done better."
By belittling British politics' best known newt lover, the poor fools don't know what they've just got themselves into. I doubt we've seen the end of this, though. What with Little Bush and the bomber boys feeling frisky and on a roll, if anyone needs me I'll be at my folks' in Wales.
MAYOR ATTACKS BUSH
By Press Association News Reporters
London mayor Ken Livingstone today launched an outspoken attack on "corrupt" US President George Bush.
Veteran left-winger Mr Livingstone said he was as keen to see Mr Bush ousted as he was to see Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein go.
The mayor's outburst was condemned by Conservatives who warned it could put Americans off of visiting London.
It came as Mr Livingstone took questions from 200 schoolchildren visiting City Hall this morning, London's Evening Standard said.
Channel 4's Krishnan Guru-Murphy, who was chairing the meeting, asked the mayor to explain why he had made a personal attack on Mr Bush when he disliked answering personal questions.
The Mayor said: "I think George Bush is the most corrupt American president since Harding in the Twenties. He is not the legitimate president."
Mr Livingstone later added: "This really is a completely unsupportable government and I look forward to it being overthrown as much as I looked forward to Saddam Hussein being overthrown."
When the BBC's Rob Watson raised the issue with Press Secretary Ari Fleischer at the daily White House briefing, George's Metatron said: "First of all I've never heard of the fella. Second of all I'm not going to dignify it with a response." As a colleague wisely observed,"CJ would have done better."
By belittling British politics' best known newt lover, the poor fools don't know what they've just got themselves into. I doubt we've seen the end of this, though. What with Little Bush and the bomber boys feeling frisky and on a roll, if anyone needs me I'll be at my folks' in Wales.
7.5.03
PseudoDictionary NOW!
alcoholiday - A trip with no intention or aim other than being overly drunk throughout its whole duration.
A perfect example would be Paul's trip to London last weekend, which is pretty much why I've been quiet these last few days. You might say the blog's been alkisedated. We were both somewhat grogolific so any entry would have been decidedly moroculous.
Indeed by the time last night's Tuesday Club came around, I was feeling somewhat drunk out. The combination of the weekend and a strange conversation with a colleague during the afternoon left me needing a little headspace, so my enjoyment of the much-anticipated Lesbian Tuesday (really not as sinister or salacious as it sounds - just a reference to the absence of Robin's two flatmates) was somewhat muted. But I do now realise that I don't actually fancy The Woman any more. Funny how these things work out...
And I wonder what Brenda was doing up when I made my way home at 2.30 this morning. There were still a couple of lights on in her council house when the cab drove past it. You'd think that with another baby on the way into that already crowded household, the old girl would be getting her sleep in while she can.
Some people might say: "Last thing we need - another bloody parasite". Me? I couldn't possibly comment.
alcoholiday - A trip with no intention or aim other than being overly drunk throughout its whole duration.
A perfect example would be Paul's trip to London last weekend, which is pretty much why I've been quiet these last few days. You might say the blog's been alkisedated. We were both somewhat grogolific so any entry would have been decidedly moroculous.
Indeed by the time last night's Tuesday Club came around, I was feeling somewhat drunk out. The combination of the weekend and a strange conversation with a colleague during the afternoon left me needing a little headspace, so my enjoyment of the much-anticipated Lesbian Tuesday (really not as sinister or salacious as it sounds - just a reference to the absence of Robin's two flatmates) was somewhat muted. But I do now realise that I don't actually fancy The Woman any more. Funny how these things work out...
And I wonder what Brenda was doing up when I made my way home at 2.30 this morning. There were still a couple of lights on in her council house when the cab drove past it. You'd think that with another baby on the way into that already crowded household, the old girl would be getting her sleep in while she can.
Some people might say: "Last thing we need - another bloody parasite". Me? I couldn't possibly comment.
2.5.03
White menace
It's no wonder it's started raining again. Yesterday's local elections were depressing enough to make the whole world want to cry.
I'm not talking about the 500 or so council seats that Iain Duncan Smith and the Tories managed to pick up - like all the analysts say, it's a mild rebellion against the government by mid-term standards, and while plenty of people are happy to trust their towns to the Tories, the majority doesn't really believe the current team is capable of running the country even to Blair's half-arsed standard. Having said that, the ranks of young faces from Conservative Central Office gathered behind IDS as he hailed his "spectacular victory" made for uncomfortable viewing.
Why my contemporaries and our juniors would want to side with such an out-moded party, I can't think, but at least they seem to care about mainstream politics, and ultimately, that's got to be a good thing.
Because they can fight.
Because we're facing a growing force of evil.
The British National Party now have 16 seats on councils around the country, but half of those are in Burnley - making it the second largest party in that authority. Another couple are in Calderdale, West Yorkshire, the place I spent my teenage years, as well as Sandwell, Dudley, Stoke-on-Trent, and Broxbourne in Hertfordshire.
"So what?," some have asked. "It's a handful of extremist nutters who'll get lost among all the other councillors in the country. They're hardly relevant."
I admit it's easy to see them as a fringe group, only making political waves at election time... but that's where the danger lies. It may only be 16 out of the many thousands - of council seats in the UK, but it's still three times more than the BNP had 24 hours ago. And 16 more than they had two years ago. They have to be stopped.
Of course, the BNP claims it's not racist, and those who portray them as being so are telling lies, liberals unwilling to admit the truth, that the white man has become a second class citizen in his own land.
Many of those who admit to voting for them echo the party's belief that it's misunderstood, and that they themselves are not bad people for backing the BNP. "I'm not racist," they say, "but they've got policies I agree with."
So what are these non-racist policies touted by Nick Griffin and his chums?
The BNP favours repatriation of people who aren't British, by which they mean "the native peoples who have lived in these islands since before the Stone Age, and the relatively small numbers of peoples of almost identical stock, such as the Saxons, Vikings and Normans, and the Irish, who have come here and assimilated."
Don't think of them as black-haters or Paki-bashers. It's for everyone's good if the foreigners leave ... especially their own!
"This scenario would benefit not only the native British people, who would secure themselves a homeland, but those of foreign origin who would take invaluable benefits to their own countries by using the skills and money they acquired in Britain to help their lands of native origins develop."
They'd rather not have you think they're in favour of racially motivated attacks, because "the majority of racist attacks in this country are committed against white British people." Oddly enough they don't quote a source for this surprising statistic (probably a government cover-up!), but I'll take them at their word if you will. (Repatriating ethnic minorities will, it has just occurred to me, also substantially cut the UK's murder rate. If there are no blacks here, then the frightening increase in urban black-on-black fatal shootings will stop. Another problem solved!)
And please don't accuse them of being against mixed-race relationships on racist grounds. Although a bit of inter-racial howsyerfather is a definite no-no, they're doing it for the good of diversity and world culture. But I really can't state their case half as well as they can:
"We are against mixed-raced relationships because we believe that all species and races of life on this planet are beautiful and must be preserved. When whites take partners from other ethnic groups, a white family line that stretches back into deep pre-history is destroyed. And, of course, the same is true of the non-white side. We want generations that spring from us to be the same as us, look like us, and be moved by the same things as us. We feel that to preserve the rich tapestry of mankind, we must preserve ethnic differences, not ‘mish-mash’ them together."
Got that? Good.
"We also call for preference in the job market to be given to native Britons."
Now before you accuse them having of anything against employing non-British people on the basis of their race, they understand why you might want to... but you'd be wrong. After all, that's just the way it's been spun by the liberal-left media. They just wish to even up the playing field a bit and "abolish the ‘positive discrimination’ schemes that have made white Britons second-class citizens".
So, if I've got this straight, they don't want them to live here, they don't want them to work here, they certainly don't want them to indulge in a bit of slap and tickle, and they want to build a coalition of white, English-speaking states, but to pull out of the union with those who speak other tongues (although that doesn't mean we shouldn't talk to the white countries).
Hmmm...
They also want to solve the situation in Northern Ireland "by welcoming Eire as well as Ulster as equal partners in a federation of the nations of the British Isles." Can someone volunteer to tell them that the very old root of the problem is that the majority of the Irish consider themselves as being different from the British, and resent being told otherwise?
Naturally they see foreign aid as unnecessary, at least in its current form. They reject the idea that "Britain must forever be obliged to subsidise the incompetence and corruption of Third World states by supplying them with financial aid... We will link foreign aid with our voluntary resettlement policy, whereby those nations taking significant numbers of people back to their homelands will need cash to help absorb those returning."
Hands up all those who think this will just make things worse for those countries concerned? But no matter. After all, just because our forefathers screwed the places up to begin with, and our banks financially crippled the fledgling states from day one, doesn't mean we should have to pay for it.
Based on all this information, freely available on the official party website, no one, no one, could reasonably argue that the BNP was not in favour of discrimination on racial grounds, with the motive of empowering the white man at the expense of others. So what's the difference between these policies and explicitly racist ones?
Fuck all.
They can dress their white supremacist policies up in cloaks of altruism, compassion, pragmatism and understanding, but the underlying desire is there for all to see... There ain't no black in the Union Jack, so why don't the niggers just fuck off back.
And of course, if all this doesn't put you off, there's always the death penalty, the gay-bashing (are those their true colours sneaking out in the URL?), and the desire to turn women back into (white) baby-making machines.
So don't you dare tell me not to worry. We've got to crush this before it starts.
It's no wonder it's started raining again. Yesterday's local elections were depressing enough to make the whole world want to cry.
I'm not talking about the 500 or so council seats that Iain Duncan Smith and the Tories managed to pick up - like all the analysts say, it's a mild rebellion against the government by mid-term standards, and while plenty of people are happy to trust their towns to the Tories, the majority doesn't really believe the current team is capable of running the country even to Blair's half-arsed standard. Having said that, the ranks of young faces from Conservative Central Office gathered behind IDS as he hailed his "spectacular victory" made for uncomfortable viewing.
Why my contemporaries and our juniors would want to side with such an out-moded party, I can't think, but at least they seem to care about mainstream politics, and ultimately, that's got to be a good thing.
Because they can fight.
Because we're facing a growing force of evil.
The British National Party now have 16 seats on councils around the country, but half of those are in Burnley - making it the second largest party in that authority. Another couple are in Calderdale, West Yorkshire, the place I spent my teenage years, as well as Sandwell, Dudley, Stoke-on-Trent, and Broxbourne in Hertfordshire.
"So what?," some have asked. "It's a handful of extremist nutters who'll get lost among all the other councillors in the country. They're hardly relevant."
I admit it's easy to see them as a fringe group, only making political waves at election time... but that's where the danger lies. It may only be 16 out of the many thousands - of council seats in the UK, but it's still three times more than the BNP had 24 hours ago. And 16 more than they had two years ago. They have to be stopped.
Of course, the BNP claims it's not racist, and those who portray them as being so are telling lies, liberals unwilling to admit the truth, that the white man has become a second class citizen in his own land.
Many of those who admit to voting for them echo the party's belief that it's misunderstood, and that they themselves are not bad people for backing the BNP. "I'm not racist," they say, "but they've got policies I agree with."
So what are these non-racist policies touted by Nick Griffin and his chums?
The BNP favours repatriation of people who aren't British, by which they mean "the native peoples who have lived in these islands since before the Stone Age, and the relatively small numbers of peoples of almost identical stock, such as the Saxons, Vikings and Normans, and the Irish, who have come here and assimilated."
Don't think of them as black-haters or Paki-bashers. It's for everyone's good if the foreigners leave ... especially their own!
"This scenario would benefit not only the native British people, who would secure themselves a homeland, but those of foreign origin who would take invaluable benefits to their own countries by using the skills and money they acquired in Britain to help their lands of native origins develop."
They'd rather not have you think they're in favour of racially motivated attacks, because "the majority of racist attacks in this country are committed against white British people." Oddly enough they don't quote a source for this surprising statistic (probably a government cover-up!), but I'll take them at their word if you will. (Repatriating ethnic minorities will, it has just occurred to me, also substantially cut the UK's murder rate. If there are no blacks here, then the frightening increase in urban black-on-black fatal shootings will stop. Another problem solved!)
And please don't accuse them of being against mixed-race relationships on racist grounds. Although a bit of inter-racial howsyerfather is a definite no-no, they're doing it for the good of diversity and world culture. But I really can't state their case half as well as they can:
"We are against mixed-raced relationships because we believe that all species and races of life on this planet are beautiful and must be preserved. When whites take partners from other ethnic groups, a white family line that stretches back into deep pre-history is destroyed. And, of course, the same is true of the non-white side. We want generations that spring from us to be the same as us, look like us, and be moved by the same things as us. We feel that to preserve the rich tapestry of mankind, we must preserve ethnic differences, not ‘mish-mash’ them together."
Got that? Good.
"We also call for preference in the job market to be given to native Britons."
Now before you accuse them having of anything against employing non-British people on the basis of their race, they understand why you might want to... but you'd be wrong. After all, that's just the way it's been spun by the liberal-left media. They just wish to even up the playing field a bit and "abolish the ‘positive discrimination’ schemes that have made white Britons second-class citizens".
So, if I've got this straight, they don't want them to live here, they don't want them to work here, they certainly don't want them to indulge in a bit of slap and tickle, and they want to build a coalition of white, English-speaking states, but to pull out of the union with those who speak other tongues (although that doesn't mean we shouldn't talk to the white countries).
Hmmm...
They also want to solve the situation in Northern Ireland "by welcoming Eire as well as Ulster as equal partners in a federation of the nations of the British Isles." Can someone volunteer to tell them that the very old root of the problem is that the majority of the Irish consider themselves as being different from the British, and resent being told otherwise?
Naturally they see foreign aid as unnecessary, at least in its current form. They reject the idea that "Britain must forever be obliged to subsidise the incompetence and corruption of Third World states by supplying them with financial aid... We will link foreign aid with our voluntary resettlement policy, whereby those nations taking significant numbers of people back to their homelands will need cash to help absorb those returning."
Hands up all those who think this will just make things worse for those countries concerned? But no matter. After all, just because our forefathers screwed the places up to begin with, and our banks financially crippled the fledgling states from day one, doesn't mean we should have to pay for it.
Based on all this information, freely available on the official party website, no one, no one, could reasonably argue that the BNP was not in favour of discrimination on racial grounds, with the motive of empowering the white man at the expense of others. So what's the difference between these policies and explicitly racist ones?
Fuck all.
They can dress their white supremacist policies up in cloaks of altruism, compassion, pragmatism and understanding, but the underlying desire is there for all to see... There ain't no black in the Union Jack, so why don't the niggers just fuck off back.
And of course, if all this doesn't put you off, there's always the death penalty, the gay-bashing (are those their true colours sneaking out in the URL?), and the desire to turn women back into (white) baby-making machines.
So don't you dare tell me not to worry. We've got to crush this before it starts.
30.4.03
From Agence France Presse:
A 55-year-old Palestinian shepherdess was shot dead by Israeli soldiers guarding a Jewish settlement on the southern edge of Gaza City on Wednesday, while grazing sheep on her land, Palestinian security officials said.
Good to see the Israeli Defence Force are finally tackling the real threat to their country's security. Rumours that the woman had been preparing a crack squad of suicide Marino sheep for an attack on Jewish settlements have not yet been confirmed.
A 55-year-old Palestinian shepherdess was shot dead by Israeli soldiers guarding a Jewish settlement on the southern edge of Gaza City on Wednesday, while grazing sheep on her land, Palestinian security officials said.
Good to see the Israeli Defence Force are finally tackling the real threat to their country's security. Rumours that the woman had been preparing a crack squad of suicide Marino sheep for an attack on Jewish settlements have not yet been confirmed.
29.4.03
Sometimes I wonder whether the blogging software is programmed to stop people turning every single issue in the world into an opportunity to bemoan their lot. That it has a subroutine that kicks in whenever the bigger picture gets too far away, triggering the fatal error-inducing headuparse.exe.
I ask this because the bytes occupied by this question were meant to be an exploration of my feelings about many of my friends, and particularly those of my age, having had babies in the six months, and those who haven't seemingly taking great strides towards it (Alex - for so long my beacon in bachelorhood, my symbol of single solidarity, proof that I wasn't the only nice bloke to be ignored by the opposite sex - getting hitched in a matter of weeks. Glorious news - splitter!:).
There was naturally much celebration of the roll of honour (Signe Barrett, Molly Hulse, Thomas Woolhouse, Rachel Bean - welcome to the world. Enjoy your stay and listen to your parents - they're all good people. Hope to see you soon) and one or two nice turns of phrase, but mostly it was me feeling old and lonely again, like life is a spectator sport, and that I'm never going to be a father (which, to be honest, would be a shame, cos I want children - irritating, selfish, puking, argumentative, frustrating, intolerant, spiteful, noisy little bastards that they are).
In short, I said, these bundles of joy are rubbing my nose in their nappies just to remind me, once again, what a full life I'm missing.
And then my damn PC decides to crash. The one time it's really lost me a full-on blog entry - and it happens to be a serious case of introspective incontinence. Believe me, what's written here is light on the self-pity compared to what went before, so you get the story (happy time for my friends) without the bleeding heart - which is as it should be.
Coincidence? I think not. Technology wins again.
I ask this because the bytes occupied by this question were meant to be an exploration of my feelings about many of my friends, and particularly those of my age, having had babies in the six months, and those who haven't seemingly taking great strides towards it (Alex - for so long my beacon in bachelorhood, my symbol of single solidarity, proof that I wasn't the only nice bloke to be ignored by the opposite sex - getting hitched in a matter of weeks. Glorious news - splitter!:).
There was naturally much celebration of the roll of honour (Signe Barrett, Molly Hulse, Thomas Woolhouse, Rachel Bean - welcome to the world. Enjoy your stay and listen to your parents - they're all good people. Hope to see you soon) and one or two nice turns of phrase, but mostly it was me feeling old and lonely again, like life is a spectator sport, and that I'm never going to be a father (which, to be honest, would be a shame, cos I want children - irritating, selfish, puking, argumentative, frustrating, intolerant, spiteful, noisy little bastards that they are).
In short, I said, these bundles of joy are rubbing my nose in their nappies just to remind me, once again, what a full life I'm missing.
And then my damn PC decides to crash. The one time it's really lost me a full-on blog entry - and it happens to be a serious case of introspective incontinence. Believe me, what's written here is light on the self-pity compared to what went before, so you get the story (happy time for my friends) without the bleeding heart - which is as it should be.
Coincidence? I think not. Technology wins again.
Due to popular demand (Sam):
PseudoDictionary NOW!
toasticle - The small particles of toast that accumulate in a tub of margarine or on a stick of butter.
e.g., I hate it when people leave their toasticles in the butter.
PseudoDictionary NOW!
toasticle - The small particles of toast that accumulate in a tub of margarine or on a stick of butter.
e.g., I hate it when people leave their toasticles in the butter.
27.4.03
As a journalist, I feel it's only right to express my professional admiration for the work carried out by the Telegraph's team in Baghdad who seem more willing to get their hands dirty and rummage through the rubble of the fallen regime than the rest of the West's media. Their ability to outscore the combined revelations of the BBC, Associated Press, Reuters, Agence France Presse, CNN, Murdoch's News International, and hundreds of other hacks in the hunt for scoops from the ruins of Saddam's regime is quite inspiring.
After all, chippies across the country had barely had time to wrap fish suppers in Daily Telegraph exclusives about "socialist firebrand" George Galloway and his alleged bungs from the Iraqi government, before its Sunday sister title was revealing "evidence" of the link between Saddam and Osama bin Laden.
It is, you must admit, remarkable that the British establishment's record of choice should, in the space of one week, find documentary proof that not only probably cripples the political career and integrity of one of Parliament's strongest critics of the war but also enables Dubya to invoke the September 11 clause in claiming moral authority for the conflict.
What are the chances of that happening, eh? After all, without the journalistic prowess of Inigo Gilmore, David Blair, et al, Mr Tony and the Cowboy might have looked like their war was unjust, based on a fictional premiss.
And don't assume this is the last we've heard from the Telegraph's crack team.
It's breaking the journalistic code, I know, but I can't help but mention that I've heard a few things on the grapevine already. Things about further alleged discoveries in the ruins of Iraqi ministry buildings, which people ought not to be surprised to see in print in the near future:
* Minutes of meetings between Saddam and Yasser Arafat planning the assassination of Ariel Sharon and a full-scale invasion of Israel
* Envelope addressed to Hans Blix containing pictures of the UN's chief weapons inspector in intimate contact with various farmyard animals, along with a message crudely constructed from newspaper clippings which reads: "Remember, Fatty: if you find anything, then the press find the negatives"
* A greetings card bearing the message: "Dear Sadie. Thanks for the latest "special deliveries"; I'll be sure to keep them well hidden until it's time. They'll really be "blown away" (heh heh!) when we finally go public. Drop by Damascus whenever - my home is your home. We Arab leaders should stick together. Love to the kids. Big hug! Bashar.x."
* And most shocking of all, direct debit forms from the presidential palace in Paris authorising payment for regular shipments of honey-cured Kurdish baby meat
Believe what you will, but just remember: you heard it here first.
After all, chippies across the country had barely had time to wrap fish suppers in Daily Telegraph exclusives about "socialist firebrand" George Galloway and his alleged bungs from the Iraqi government, before its Sunday sister title was revealing "evidence" of the link between Saddam and Osama bin Laden.
It is, you must admit, remarkable that the British establishment's record of choice should, in the space of one week, find documentary proof that not only probably cripples the political career and integrity of one of Parliament's strongest critics of the war but also enables Dubya to invoke the September 11 clause in claiming moral authority for the conflict.
What are the chances of that happening, eh? After all, without the journalistic prowess of Inigo Gilmore, David Blair, et al, Mr Tony and the Cowboy might have looked like their war was unjust, based on a fictional premiss.
And don't assume this is the last we've heard from the Telegraph's crack team.
It's breaking the journalistic code, I know, but I can't help but mention that I've heard a few things on the grapevine already. Things about further alleged discoveries in the ruins of Iraqi ministry buildings, which people ought not to be surprised to see in print in the near future:
* Minutes of meetings between Saddam and Yasser Arafat planning the assassination of Ariel Sharon and a full-scale invasion of Israel
* Envelope addressed to Hans Blix containing pictures of the UN's chief weapons inspector in intimate contact with various farmyard animals, along with a message crudely constructed from newspaper clippings which reads: "Remember, Fatty: if you find anything, then the press find the negatives"
* A greetings card bearing the message: "Dear Sadie. Thanks for the latest "special deliveries"; I'll be sure to keep them well hidden until it's time. They'll really be "blown away" (heh heh!) when we finally go public. Drop by Damascus whenever - my home is your home. We Arab leaders should stick together. Love to the kids. Big hug! Bashar.x."
* And most shocking of all, direct debit forms from the presidential palace in Paris authorising payment for regular shipments of honey-cured Kurdish baby meat
Believe what you will, but just remember: you heard it here first.
25.4.03
Okay, guys, let's take this outside. :)
Tripmeister wrote:
Having been brought up going to see Man United reserve team games in the early 80s, being named after the player who would have captained England in 66 had he not died in 58, and being well read about the history and tradition of my club I think I'm more than entitled to be a red...
And it's not about being over-defensive...it's about standing up to the endless bullshit that's spouted by people who couldn't tell you when their team was founded, when they won their first trophy, how agonising it was to have a remarkable comeback snatched away in the last minute of the cup final...I've lived the successes and failures of my team for nigh on three decades...and I'm not about to go getting ashamed of them just because they've been successful for the last ten years...that's just retarded...
No one's asking you to be ashamed of the team, old chum - certainly not me. Ashamed of some of the fans, maybe, but which of us can't say that?
Your earlier posts made my arguments for me. Yes, I hate the fact that you usually give us a tonking. Yes, I'm envious of your club's great run of success over the past 15 years. And another part is what I mentioned about United's tendency to belittle the Premiership a couple of years ago, by word, more than by deed - I think it was disrespectful of the organisation that's helped them get where they are today. They've stepped back from this position of late, but memories are long in football. Still, aren't those good enough reasons to dislike a team? But those are only mine - I don't expect anyone else to subscribe to them.
I never actually thought that all those trophies were why you personally support the club - after all, young Duncan Edwards never really had any choice, did he?
And you're right about my upbringing in Plymouth, London and Yorkshire - but my childhood never really involved football. My dad wasn't interested, nor were any of the few other male role models I had. So I was left to find my own way to football. And I found it when my home was in Newcastle, at a time the club was starting to have some success.
But I don't think that makes me any less of a fan than someone born on Tyneside. And even though we haven't won the country's top honour since 1927, I'm not going to give up hope.
I've never believed people should be expected to support their local team. My grandmother, bless her, would argue that clubs should only be staffed by people from the immediate area - not something that would particularly harm NUFC, I feel, unlike some other big clubs - although funnily enough, MU would do okay out of this rule too (of course my grandmother also recently observed that "the blacks will take over this country soon - just like they took over Africa." Erm.. think you'll find that it was theirs in the first place, Nanny). That's pretty unreasonable - after all, look at your good lady. Not exactly a Scouse accent but I don't think any less of her for supporting Liverpool. Nor do I really care that you're one of Fergie's boys. For a start, it's not my place to tell you who you should or shouldn't support.
I just wanted a bit of a rant about how the allegiances of people who'd normally root for United's domestic opponents suddenly change when they have national coat-tails to ride on. Liverpool had it that way before them.
What I will say, though, is that when your good run does eventually come to an end (as it surely must some day) Kenyon and Co will find their fan base depletes rather rapidly.
It's not really the club's fault, but for me, that just ain't football.
Tripmeister wrote:
Having been brought up going to see Man United reserve team games in the early 80s, being named after the player who would have captained England in 66 had he not died in 58, and being well read about the history and tradition of my club I think I'm more than entitled to be a red...
And it's not about being over-defensive...it's about standing up to the endless bullshit that's spouted by people who couldn't tell you when their team was founded, when they won their first trophy, how agonising it was to have a remarkable comeback snatched away in the last minute of the cup final...I've lived the successes and failures of my team for nigh on three decades...and I'm not about to go getting ashamed of them just because they've been successful for the last ten years...that's just retarded...
No one's asking you to be ashamed of the team, old chum - certainly not me. Ashamed of some of the fans, maybe, but which of us can't say that?
Your earlier posts made my arguments for me. Yes, I hate the fact that you usually give us a tonking. Yes, I'm envious of your club's great run of success over the past 15 years. And another part is what I mentioned about United's tendency to belittle the Premiership a couple of years ago, by word, more than by deed - I think it was disrespectful of the organisation that's helped them get where they are today. They've stepped back from this position of late, but memories are long in football. Still, aren't those good enough reasons to dislike a team? But those are only mine - I don't expect anyone else to subscribe to them.
I never actually thought that all those trophies were why you personally support the club - after all, young Duncan Edwards never really had any choice, did he?
And you're right about my upbringing in Plymouth, London and Yorkshire - but my childhood never really involved football. My dad wasn't interested, nor were any of the few other male role models I had. So I was left to find my own way to football. And I found it when my home was in Newcastle, at a time the club was starting to have some success.
But I don't think that makes me any less of a fan than someone born on Tyneside. And even though we haven't won the country's top honour since 1927, I'm not going to give up hope.
I've never believed people should be expected to support their local team. My grandmother, bless her, would argue that clubs should only be staffed by people from the immediate area - not something that would particularly harm NUFC, I feel, unlike some other big clubs - although funnily enough, MU would do okay out of this rule too (of course my grandmother also recently observed that "the blacks will take over this country soon - just like they took over Africa." Erm.. think you'll find that it was theirs in the first place, Nanny). That's pretty unreasonable - after all, look at your good lady. Not exactly a Scouse accent but I don't think any less of her for supporting Liverpool. Nor do I really care that you're one of Fergie's boys. For a start, it's not my place to tell you who you should or shouldn't support.
I just wanted a bit of a rant about how the allegiances of people who'd normally root for United's domestic opponents suddenly change when they have national coat-tails to ride on. Liverpool had it that way before them.
What I will say, though, is that when your good run does eventually come to an end (as it surely must some day) Kenyon and Co will find their fan base depletes rather rapidly.
It's not really the club's fault, but for me, that just ain't football.
23.4.03
So Manchester United's European dreams are over for another year - cool! :)
Am I wrong to take so much delight in the defeat of an English team? Maybe. But let me explain.
The two legs of the Champions League quarter-final between United and Real Madrid made for 180 of the most entertaining minutes of football that I've seen in a long time, and despite the Spanish team definitely being the better of the two, the Mancs certainly played their part. Both teams did their sport proud.
But many of my colleagues were surprised to hear whoops of delight when Ronaldo slotted his first past Barthez, and my groan when van Nistelrooy levelled for the Reds. "Don't you want United to win? Why aren't you backing the English team?" they asked.
Well, I've never liked Manchester United. Ever. So why should I be expected to abandon my principles when they're playing Johnny Foreigner? Surely that would make me a hypocrite. Ryan Giggs made United's stance clear enough a few years ago when he said the Premiership title wasn't really important compared with the European Cup. Okeydokey Ryan - you don't want us, we don't want you. And don't expect me to back the team based on some misplaced, half-baked notion of patriotism.
One colleague suggested this was similar to Scots supporting whichever team was playing England. I quite agree. Although not usually known to be a big one for bigotry, by golly, this is football we're talking about and sometimes one just has to take a stand. The Scots obviously have their reasons for hating us, and I've always found them to be a highly principled people, so to equate my indiscriminatory prejudice towards Manchester United with such a well-established partisan tradition is fine by me.
Of course it's not the first time I've been placed in this position. Manchester's treble-winning season of 1998/99 was much worse, because people made it personal. Friends and family - people who would normally spit the words Manchester United - were among those who backed Manyoo against my team, my Toon, in the FA Cup final. And all because they wanted to see an English club win the biggest three trophies available.
What treachery! No wonder Newcastle didn't bother playing - they knew there was a country of bandwagon-jumping glory seekers stacked against them.
Then there's the other weekend's 6-2 drubbing to keep the fires of hatred burning.
Nope. Manchester United are Manchester United whichever way you read it, and they'll never have my backing, whoever they may be playing.
And I managed to get through that without calling them the Scum even once. :)
(With apologies to dear Duncan, sadly afflicted though he is)
Am I wrong to take so much delight in the defeat of an English team? Maybe. But let me explain.
The two legs of the Champions League quarter-final between United and Real Madrid made for 180 of the most entertaining minutes of football that I've seen in a long time, and despite the Spanish team definitely being the better of the two, the Mancs certainly played their part. Both teams did their sport proud.
But many of my colleagues were surprised to hear whoops of delight when Ronaldo slotted his first past Barthez, and my groan when van Nistelrooy levelled for the Reds. "Don't you want United to win? Why aren't you backing the English team?" they asked.
Well, I've never liked Manchester United. Ever. So why should I be expected to abandon my principles when they're playing Johnny Foreigner? Surely that would make me a hypocrite. Ryan Giggs made United's stance clear enough a few years ago when he said the Premiership title wasn't really important compared with the European Cup. Okeydokey Ryan - you don't want us, we don't want you. And don't expect me to back the team based on some misplaced, half-baked notion of patriotism.
One colleague suggested this was similar to Scots supporting whichever team was playing England. I quite agree. Although not usually known to be a big one for bigotry, by golly, this is football we're talking about and sometimes one just has to take a stand. The Scots obviously have their reasons for hating us, and I've always found them to be a highly principled people, so to equate my indiscriminatory prejudice towards Manchester United with such a well-established partisan tradition is fine by me.
Of course it's not the first time I've been placed in this position. Manchester's treble-winning season of 1998/99 was much worse, because people made it personal. Friends and family - people who would normally spit the words Manchester United - were among those who backed Manyoo against my team, my Toon, in the FA Cup final. And all because they wanted to see an English club win the biggest three trophies available.
What treachery! No wonder Newcastle didn't bother playing - they knew there was a country of bandwagon-jumping glory seekers stacked against them.
Then there's the other weekend's 6-2 drubbing to keep the fires of hatred burning.
Nope. Manchester United are Manchester United whichever way you read it, and they'll never have my backing, whoever they may be playing.
And I managed to get through that without calling them the Scum even once. :)
(With apologies to dear Duncan, sadly afflicted though he is)
22.4.03
Once again I'm mourning the loss of a musical colossus. And although Nina Simone's death is very sad, it's nothing compared to the passing of the mighty S Club. Not 18 months after the demise of Steps, pop has suffered this second - possibly more serious - blow. It seems they've finally tired of allegedly blowing their five figure Christmas bonuses on coke parties, much to the sadness of myself and millions of British teenyboppers.
My addiction to pop is well known. Admittedly "artists" like Sclub, Justin and Britney make completely disposable stuff, but that's part of their appeal. Sure I like good music of many different kinds, but I've always believed that quite apart from having musical merit, if a tune makes you feel happy - or indeed invokes any emotion other than rage - then that can only be a good thing. And a few manufactured groups have had a knack for hitting my sweet spot with every track.
But Sclub, with their TV shows and enduringly cheery pop, were always something special.
Jo had the lungs to keep the group afloat - but seemingly not the back to carry them; Bradley - although talentless on the surface - was given lead vocals on two of the band's biggest hits and much to everyone's amazement, carried them off with aplomb; poor Tina was the female spare wheel, lacking any charisma, but seemingly happy to sport one unflattering hair-do after another; Jon - blonde, blue-eyed, silky-smooth eye candy for those girls who like their men permanently adolescent; Rachel - intentionally alluring, undoubtedly talented, but unfortunately outclassed in every category; Paul - who set the break-up train in motion when he left last year to explore his rock bent but was no great loss; and Hannah. Delicious, dazzling, delicate Hannah. S Club's shining star who deserves success in whichever field she chooses to pursue.
Steps and Sclub were shining examples of the boy/girl combo's superiority over unigender groups - now only Liberty X stand between my sanity and totalitarian boy band hell. Westlife and their like are evil incarnate, feeding on the psyches of unwitting teenage girls. Sclub were a defiantly upbeat force for good.
I stopped listening to pop radio some time ago, and only occasionally tune into Top of the Pops. With S Club's passing, the Hit Parade has taken another great leap away - and I'm just feeling that bit more grown up than before.
My addiction to pop is well known. Admittedly "artists" like Sclub, Justin and Britney make completely disposable stuff, but that's part of their appeal. Sure I like good music of many different kinds, but I've always believed that quite apart from having musical merit, if a tune makes you feel happy - or indeed invokes any emotion other than rage - then that can only be a good thing. And a few manufactured groups have had a knack for hitting my sweet spot with every track.
But Sclub, with their TV shows and enduringly cheery pop, were always something special.
Jo had the lungs to keep the group afloat - but seemingly not the back to carry them; Bradley - although talentless on the surface - was given lead vocals on two of the band's biggest hits and much to everyone's amazement, carried them off with aplomb; poor Tina was the female spare wheel, lacking any charisma, but seemingly happy to sport one unflattering hair-do after another; Jon - blonde, blue-eyed, silky-smooth eye candy for those girls who like their men permanently adolescent; Rachel - intentionally alluring, undoubtedly talented, but unfortunately outclassed in every category; Paul - who set the break-up train in motion when he left last year to explore his rock bent but was no great loss; and Hannah. Delicious, dazzling, delicate Hannah. S Club's shining star who deserves success in whichever field she chooses to pursue.
Steps and Sclub were shining examples of the boy/girl combo's superiority over unigender groups - now only Liberty X stand between my sanity and totalitarian boy band hell. Westlife and their like are evil incarnate, feeding on the psyches of unwitting teenage girls. Sclub were a defiantly upbeat force for good.
I stopped listening to pop radio some time ago, and only occasionally tune into Top of the Pops. With S Club's passing, the Hit Parade has taken another great leap away - and I'm just feeling that bit more grown up than before.
The fog of war has finally lifted, which means fairly normal service is about to resume. But first, an explanation of sorts.
In short, the two anxiety dreams of 10 days ago got their man, I lost my temper for the first time in years (far worse than anything seen since my teen rages), did something instantly regrettable (but fortunately not so serious as to be irreparable) which shocked me more than anyone else present, and sent me into quite a dark spot for a week or so. I didn't want to open valves on my brain while it was in that condition, which is why I've been silent pretty much ever since. I may share the full story one of these days, but for now it's best if it stays under wraps.
For now, it's time to consign that to the past, learn from my mistake and move on. Anyway, there's far too much going on in the world for me to spend so much time in my head beating myself up for a little mistake.
So I'm back and I've got things to say. :)
In short, the two anxiety dreams of 10 days ago got their man, I lost my temper for the first time in years (far worse than anything seen since my teen rages), did something instantly regrettable (but fortunately not so serious as to be irreparable) which shocked me more than anyone else present, and sent me into quite a dark spot for a week or so. I didn't want to open valves on my brain while it was in that condition, which is why I've been silent pretty much ever since. I may share the full story one of these days, but for now it's best if it stays under wraps.
For now, it's time to consign that to the past, learn from my mistake and move on. Anyway, there's far too much going on in the world for me to spend so much time in my head beating myself up for a little mistake.
So I'm back and I've got things to say. :)
14.4.03
I appear to be subject to the collective blogstipation that seems to be affecting the authors of many of my favourite haunts.
It's probably because I've got a lot of serious stuff going round my head which I don't feel able to write about - at least not yet - and that seems to be causing a blockage that's preventing my usual verbal diahorrea and occasional rage against the world.
So to ease me back into the routine, here's an easy one:
US President George Dubya Bush (Sunday): "We believe there are chemical weapons in Syria."
US Secretary of State Colin Powell (today): "With respect to Syria, of course we will examine possible measures of a diplomatic, economic or other nature as we move forward."
White House spokesman Ari Fleischer (today): "Syria is a nation that has long been on the list of terrorist nations. They should not do that. They should not be that way. No nation should be. And that's a message the United States will not be shy about saying to Syria or other nations."
Journalist: "But then what?"
Fleischer: "I think that what's next is Syria needs to seriously ponder the implications of their actions in terms of harboring Iraqis who need not and should not be harbored. They should think seriously about their program to develop and to have chemical weapons. I think it's time for them to think through where they want their place to be in the world."
Journo: "Why shouldn't people take that as a threat?"
Fleischer (inviting a question from another journalist): "John."
One war's obviously not enough for this administration. Mind you, blowing the planet to fuck would certainly take a few things off my mind, so maybe I shouldn't be so damning...
It's probably because I've got a lot of serious stuff going round my head which I don't feel able to write about - at least not yet - and that seems to be causing a blockage that's preventing my usual verbal diahorrea and occasional rage against the world.
So to ease me back into the routine, here's an easy one:
US President George Dubya Bush (Sunday): "We believe there are chemical weapons in Syria."
US Secretary of State Colin Powell (today): "With respect to Syria, of course we will examine possible measures of a diplomatic, economic or other nature as we move forward."
White House spokesman Ari Fleischer (today): "Syria is a nation that has long been on the list of terrorist nations. They should not do that. They should not be that way. No nation should be. And that's a message the United States will not be shy about saying to Syria or other nations."
Journalist: "But then what?"
Fleischer: "I think that what's next is Syria needs to seriously ponder the implications of their actions in terms of harboring Iraqis who need not and should not be harbored. They should think seriously about their program to develop and to have chemical weapons. I think it's time for them to think through where they want their place to be in the world."
Journo: "Why shouldn't people take that as a threat?"
Fleischer (inviting a question from another journalist): "John."
One war's obviously not enough for this administration. Mind you, blowing the planet to fuck would certainly take a few things off my mind, so maybe I shouldn't be so damning...
11.4.03
Have spent much of the day being tense and irascible. So what else is new, you may ask. Thing is, I mean cantankerous even by my standards.
It's all to do with my night of anxiety dreams. Not one, but two. Slightly unfair, I feel.
The first was the standard exam stress routine. You know the deal:
Buggerbuggerbugger, my exam's tomorrow, I've done no revision, I've no idea what it's about and I'm stuck in the most inappropriate location (centre of Paris this time) with absolutely no access to any study material, and I'm going to fail and be a failure and be cast out by society. How could I have got myself into this situation yet again?
Breathe, Benjamin. What are you talking about? You haven't been asked to sit an exam in almost ten years. Calm down.
But my mind decides that's not enough stress for one night, and rolls out the Bizarro Angst Deluxe model.
Picture two women on a millionaire's superyacht planning a wedding. There are fountains of water arcing around and across the boat - somewhat akin to what you see when fireboats welcome back a victorious naval vessel from a warzone. The women are discussing what kind of socks should be worn at the wedding.
Intercut with their discussion, there's me - first person perspective - desperately trying on pairs of socks. But none of them are right. Either they're too small, or full of holes, or none of the pairs actually match - one green, one black; one patterned, one plain; one grey, one blue; one large, one small. And all the time the women are planning this wedding and my frantic attempt to find a matching pair of socks has to succeed or else something very bad will happen.
Fortunately I woke up before finding out what nasty fate awaited me. Of course rather than being relaxed and rested, I was tense and knotted. And even now, just thinking about the injustice of these dreams, I can feel my blood pressure rising.
Thomsk says it's because I've got issues about feeling out of control as regards my life. Maybe he's right. Either way, they're not welcome.
It's all to do with my night of anxiety dreams. Not one, but two. Slightly unfair, I feel.
The first was the standard exam stress routine. You know the deal:
Buggerbuggerbugger, my exam's tomorrow, I've done no revision, I've no idea what it's about and I'm stuck in the most inappropriate location (centre of Paris this time) with absolutely no access to any study material, and I'm going to fail and be a failure and be cast out by society. How could I have got myself into this situation yet again?
Breathe, Benjamin. What are you talking about? You haven't been asked to sit an exam in almost ten years. Calm down.
But my mind decides that's not enough stress for one night, and rolls out the Bizarro Angst Deluxe model.
Picture two women on a millionaire's superyacht planning a wedding. There are fountains of water arcing around and across the boat - somewhat akin to what you see when fireboats welcome back a victorious naval vessel from a warzone. The women are discussing what kind of socks should be worn at the wedding.
Intercut with their discussion, there's me - first person perspective - desperately trying on pairs of socks. But none of them are right. Either they're too small, or full of holes, or none of the pairs actually match - one green, one black; one patterned, one plain; one grey, one blue; one large, one small. And all the time the women are planning this wedding and my frantic attempt to find a matching pair of socks has to succeed or else something very bad will happen.
Fortunately I woke up before finding out what nasty fate awaited me. Of course rather than being relaxed and rested, I was tense and knotted. And even now, just thinking about the injustice of these dreams, I can feel my blood pressure rising.
Thomsk says it's because I've got issues about feeling out of control as regards my life. Maybe he's right. Either way, they're not welcome.
9.4.03
What is it about flags that make people whip them out at a moment's notice? Why such pride in them - especially at the most inappropriate moments?
This afternoon the world watched as US marines pulled down a massive statue of Saddam in the middle of Baghdad.
Cheered on by hundreds of Iraqis, they swung a noose around the giant neck of the colossus and prepared to heave it off - an astonishing, empowering symbolic moment of Iraqi freedom. A truly historic moment indeed, and one I won't forget for a long time.
But then came a moment more sickening than any other in this war. The marines unfurled their star-spangled banner and placed it over Saddam's head, like the hood of a condemned man.
Pardon my freespeak, but how fucking arrogant?
The Iraqis gathered around the marines gasped and booed. The diplomat being interviewed on News 24 - himself a native of Baghdad - spoke of his disgust and humiliation. The British forces spokesman said it was certainly inappropriate. And my stomach just turned.
Fortunately someone in the chain of command saw sense before the task was completed and the stars and stripes were taken down within a couple of minutes. After much tugging - and a brief appearance by an Iraqi flag around Saddam's neck - the statue eventually fell, unclad with colours of any nation. But the fact the episode with the US flag happened at all still speaks volumes about the attitude of many towards the war.
Yes it was a great move the marines were taking, but it should have been in the name of the Iraqi people, not the US military. This war has (hopefully) been about restoring the rights of a downtrodden people, not reasserting America's might.
I love visiting the US, I hold a good number of its citizens very dear, and I enjoy many of its contributions to world culture. So you could consider me a fan of the place - I certainly do.
But until a great many people learn that America is only one part of a wonderfully diverse world, and the country's establishment stops acting like it owns the place, it will continue to be a focus for the kind of hatred and resentment that led to 11 September 2001. And today showed just how far they haven't come in the last 18 months.
This afternoon the world watched as US marines pulled down a massive statue of Saddam in the middle of Baghdad.
Cheered on by hundreds of Iraqis, they swung a noose around the giant neck of the colossus and prepared to heave it off - an astonishing, empowering symbolic moment of Iraqi freedom. A truly historic moment indeed, and one I won't forget for a long time.
But then came a moment more sickening than any other in this war. The marines unfurled their star-spangled banner and placed it over Saddam's head, like the hood of a condemned man.
Pardon my freespeak, but how fucking arrogant?
The Iraqis gathered around the marines gasped and booed. The diplomat being interviewed on News 24 - himself a native of Baghdad - spoke of his disgust and humiliation. The British forces spokesman said it was certainly inappropriate. And my stomach just turned.
Fortunately someone in the chain of command saw sense before the task was completed and the stars and stripes were taken down within a couple of minutes. After much tugging - and a brief appearance by an Iraqi flag around Saddam's neck - the statue eventually fell, unclad with colours of any nation. But the fact the episode with the US flag happened at all still speaks volumes about the attitude of many towards the war.
Yes it was a great move the marines were taking, but it should have been in the name of the Iraqi people, not the US military. This war has (hopefully) been about restoring the rights of a downtrodden people, not reasserting America's might.
I love visiting the US, I hold a good number of its citizens very dear, and I enjoy many of its contributions to world culture. So you could consider me a fan of the place - I certainly do.
But until a great many people learn that America is only one part of a wonderfully diverse world, and the country's establishment stops acting like it owns the place, it will continue to be a focus for the kind of hatred and resentment that led to 11 September 2001. And today showed just how far they haven't come in the last 18 months.
7.4.03
I promised to elaborate on the thought-provoking conversation I had in the pub with a colleague on Friday, and so I will.
Towards the end of our marathon sesh, talk inevitably turned to war and Karen, a wee slip of a thing, revealed she'd once been in the Territorial Army, and would die for her country if needed. I, however, said that apart from the safety of my own family, I couldn't think of a single cause I'd be willing to die for. Indeed, I can't think of a cause that would be furthered by my death. While I respect those who are willing to, and don't fear death, I believe it's negative and futile, and much more can be accomplished by staying alive.
"Ah, " said Karen, "but being a Christian I know I've got something to look forward to, it's just the beginning. But for you, being an atheist, death is the end."
And all I could think was how strange it was that a faith which stresses what a wondrous gift life is - despite the bonus round of heaven - how strange it is that people are quite so willing to give away that gift. Because despite the great foundations people have laid for such a decision I can't help but see it as bizarre, and just a little bit sad.
Anyway, here in the narrowband, confusing Mac hell that is South Wales, it's time for (irony of ironies) Christmas dinner. But that's another story.
Towards the end of our marathon sesh, talk inevitably turned to war and Karen, a wee slip of a thing, revealed she'd once been in the Territorial Army, and would die for her country if needed. I, however, said that apart from the safety of my own family, I couldn't think of a single cause I'd be willing to die for. Indeed, I can't think of a cause that would be furthered by my death. While I respect those who are willing to, and don't fear death, I believe it's negative and futile, and much more can be accomplished by staying alive.
"Ah, " said Karen, "but being a Christian I know I've got something to look forward to, it's just the beginning. But for you, being an atheist, death is the end."
And all I could think was how strange it was that a faith which stresses what a wondrous gift life is - despite the bonus round of heaven - how strange it is that people are quite so willing to give away that gift. Because despite the great foundations people have laid for such a decision I can't help but see it as bizarre, and just a little bit sad.
Anyway, here in the narrowband, confusing Mac hell that is South Wales, it's time for (irony of ironies) Christmas dinner. But that's another story.
6.4.03
"Shut up. I'm broadcasting!"
The American-led operation to liberate Iraqi fish has come to John Simpson's personal barrel. The BBC's World Affairs Editor was travelling with a convoy of US special forces and Kurdish fighters in the north of the country when they came under attack from American aircraft.
Although John was only slightly injured, and on air (RealMedia clip) minutes after the attack, a number of Americans and Kurds with him were not so lucky, initial reports suggesting that 10 people had been killed by the "friendly fire" incident. With this attack on its own special forces, the USAF is quickly developing a reputation as the country's Special Needs forces.
Thing is, I can't say I'm surprised. Just a couple of days ago I was listening to John on one of our audio traffic channels used to route reporters in the field through to studios. He was waiting to do a live question and answer session (or two-way, as we call them) with Radio Five Live from his position in northern Iraq. He was clearly quite nervous and wanting to get on with the report, as he said there was bombing going on around him, and that either planes or missiles (he wasn't clear) tended to gravitate towards mobile phone signals. Nobody - neither Helen operating the line, nor Simon Mayo doing the interview - seemed to appreciate his predicament. Doubtless they'll do so from now on.
This war "to disarm Saddam" (of all those weapons of mass destruction they've found) has already seen several journalists die, and we've just got to hope that all the BBC people come home safe. A valued and respected cameraman has already been lost, and I fear he may not be the last. This, of course, on top of the thousands of Iraqi civilians to have lost their lives.
Damn that Texan redneck sub-human piece of shit. If I'm wrong and there is a hell, I hope he burns in it.
The American-led operation to liberate Iraqi fish has come to John Simpson's personal barrel. The BBC's World Affairs Editor was travelling with a convoy of US special forces and Kurdish fighters in the north of the country when they came under attack from American aircraft.
Although John was only slightly injured, and on air (RealMedia clip) minutes after the attack, a number of Americans and Kurds with him were not so lucky, initial reports suggesting that 10 people had been killed by the "friendly fire" incident. With this attack on its own special forces, the USAF is quickly developing a reputation as the country's Special Needs forces.
Thing is, I can't say I'm surprised. Just a couple of days ago I was listening to John on one of our audio traffic channels used to route reporters in the field through to studios. He was waiting to do a live question and answer session (or two-way, as we call them) with Radio Five Live from his position in northern Iraq. He was clearly quite nervous and wanting to get on with the report, as he said there was bombing going on around him, and that either planes or missiles (he wasn't clear) tended to gravitate towards mobile phone signals. Nobody - neither Helen operating the line, nor Simon Mayo doing the interview - seemed to appreciate his predicament. Doubtless they'll do so from now on.
This war "to disarm Saddam" (of all those weapons of mass destruction they've found) has already seen several journalists die, and we've just got to hope that all the BBC people come home safe. A valued and respected cameraman has already been lost, and I fear he may not be the last. This, of course, on top of the thousands of Iraqi civilians to have lost their lives.
Damn that Texan redneck sub-human piece of shit. If I'm wrong and there is a hell, I hope he burns in it.
5.4.03
The Crazy World of Television Centre (an occasional series)
It's a gloriously sunny spring afternoon, and some of London's millions have taken advantage of the weather to hang out and soak up the rays with us in White City.
Eclectic bunch they are too. Across the road are thirty people, give or take, yelling allegations of pro-US biased reporting and lie-telling by the Corporation's news team. Or at least that's what it sounded like, despite the lousy loudhailer technique employed by various shouty individuals. The three police officers overseeing the demo didn't seem too concerned.
Far more vocal were the alarming scenes on our side of the road - a throng of teenage girls reaching through the bars for autographs from Busted or some similarly talentless target market fodder, trying to catch a glimpse or snatch of fumble of these all-too-common creatures. Not unlike a zoo, considering. Except I'm not too sure who was exploting whose imprisonment.
We thought about dispersing the crowds by calling on our favourite new weapon - one that caused much amusement in the newsroom - but hell, it's sweet when people take such an interest in your work.
It's a gloriously sunny spring afternoon, and some of London's millions have taken advantage of the weather to hang out and soak up the rays with us in White City.
Eclectic bunch they are too. Across the road are thirty people, give or take, yelling allegations of pro-US biased reporting and lie-telling by the Corporation's news team. Or at least that's what it sounded like, despite the lousy loudhailer technique employed by various shouty individuals. The three police officers overseeing the demo didn't seem too concerned.
Far more vocal were the alarming scenes on our side of the road - a throng of teenage girls reaching through the bars for autographs from Busted or some similarly talentless target market fodder, trying to catch a glimpse or snatch of fumble of these all-too-common creatures. Not unlike a zoo, considering. Except I'm not too sure who was exploting whose imprisonment.
We thought about dispersing the crowds by calling on our favourite new weapon - one that caused much amusement in the newsroom - but hell, it's sweet when people take such an interest in your work.
4.4.03
3.4.03
Okay, so I changed the name. Apologies for any distress this causes, but there is a good reason for rebranding.
Why the new name? Principally because it's a clever one I thought up years ago, and I have absolutely no idea why I opted for Mutterings in the first place.
Nota Benny works on two levels, the first being the Latin one, natch, and the second being that with a few notable exceptions, I am not a Benny. Those of you who can get away with it know who you are, and I have absolutely no desire for you to stop. For the rest, though, it's virtually any other derivation of Benjamin, but definitely not a Benny.
Geddit?!!
Oh, please yourselves...
Not that I still have hang-ups about old Crossroads characters. Just because other children found reason for comparison to another unique person who spoke a little slower than the rest. The years of taunting haven't haunted me. Oh no... *sniff*
Why the new name? Principally because it's a clever one I thought up years ago, and I have absolutely no idea why I opted for Mutterings in the first place.
Nota Benny works on two levels, the first being the Latin one, natch, and the second being that with a few notable exceptions, I am not a Benny. Those of you who can get away with it know who you are, and I have absolutely no desire for you to stop. For the rest, though, it's virtually any other derivation of Benjamin, but definitely not a Benny.
Geddit?!!
Oh, please yourselves...
Not that I still have hang-ups about old Crossroads characters. Just because other children found reason for comparison to another unique person who spoke a little slower than the rest. The years of taunting haven't haunted me. Oh no... *sniff*
1984 and all that
"And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.'" - George Orwell, 1984
Well, thank goodness Orwell's nightmare vision never came true.
Um, except did anyone else notice the following snippet in a speech by our esteemed Home Secretary David Blunkett this morning?
"For the first time in our history we not only have thousands of journalists with our troops, but we have broadcast media behind what we would describe as enemy lines, reporting blow by blow what is happening. We have it reported, by UK media on occasions, as though there were moral equivalents, when there are not. Those of a progressive, or liberal bent, in my view, egged on into believing that this is the right way to get to the true facts. Well it's hard to give true facts if reporters of Al Jazeera are linked into Iraq, and only there because they are provided with facilities and support from the regime."
Or in other words:
People of the world, only one side of the story should be reported. Only the coalition's account is tenable. Everyone else is lying. How do we know? Because we say so. Forget what you may have been told about balanced reporting - it's just a dilution of the truth. Big Brother is watching you.
Now I've been worried for some time about Blunkett's penchant for anti-libertarian policies and proclamations, but this seems to cast him in a harsher light than ever before. I had hoped the UK was above the kind of bias that has had American media desperately trying to avoid allegations of being unpatriotic, but with this kind of thing coming from such a senior member of government, that's apparently not so. Such a blatant denial of the media's right to report opposing views makes our government guilty of just the same kind of disinformation and propaganda as they themselves cite in their demonisation of Saddam.
Quite apart from this, by actively distancing himself from people of a "progressive or liberal bent" Blunkett freely invites the inference that he wants to be thought of as static - maybe even regressive - and conservative.
And this from one of the leading contenders for the top job in the event of Blair stepping down. At least Mr Tony tries to portray himself as having a modicum of compassion and a willingness to argue his point of view in open debate.
No such thing from Blunkett. Time spent arguing his case would just get in the way of passing draconian legislation undermining the fundamental legal principles that all people - no matter what their past contains - have the right to a fair, unprejudiced trial, and are innocent until proven guilty. And of course, if you're an asylum seeker, then don't expect Blunkett's Britain to welcome you with open arms. Don't expect anything except suspicion and intolerance. And you should be grateful for that.
This probably doesn't count for anything, and I don't want to be seen as bigoted against people with disabilities, but Blunkett's blindness only serves to amplify my distrust of him. With all other politicians, whatever their lips might say, one always has the second opinion of the story told by their eyes. Not so with Blunkett, and that makes me uncomfortable.
Balir's government is becoming increasingly controlling and restrictive in response to people growing more cynical about it, and Blunkett is among the worst perpetrators.
Where's the opposition - any kind of strong opposition - when we need it?
"And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.'" - George Orwell, 1984
Well, thank goodness Orwell's nightmare vision never came true.
Um, except did anyone else notice the following snippet in a speech by our esteemed Home Secretary David Blunkett this morning?
"For the first time in our history we not only have thousands of journalists with our troops, but we have broadcast media behind what we would describe as enemy lines, reporting blow by blow what is happening. We have it reported, by UK media on occasions, as though there were moral equivalents, when there are not. Those of a progressive, or liberal bent, in my view, egged on into believing that this is the right way to get to the true facts. Well it's hard to give true facts if reporters of Al Jazeera are linked into Iraq, and only there because they are provided with facilities and support from the regime."
Or in other words:
People of the world, only one side of the story should be reported. Only the coalition's account is tenable. Everyone else is lying. How do we know? Because we say so. Forget what you may have been told about balanced reporting - it's just a dilution of the truth. Big Brother is watching you.
Now I've been worried for some time about Blunkett's penchant for anti-libertarian policies and proclamations, but this seems to cast him in a harsher light than ever before. I had hoped the UK was above the kind of bias that has had American media desperately trying to avoid allegations of being unpatriotic, but with this kind of thing coming from such a senior member of government, that's apparently not so. Such a blatant denial of the media's right to report opposing views makes our government guilty of just the same kind of disinformation and propaganda as they themselves cite in their demonisation of Saddam.
Quite apart from this, by actively distancing himself from people of a "progressive or liberal bent" Blunkett freely invites the inference that he wants to be thought of as static - maybe even regressive - and conservative.
And this from one of the leading contenders for the top job in the event of Blair stepping down. At least Mr Tony tries to portray himself as having a modicum of compassion and a willingness to argue his point of view in open debate.
No such thing from Blunkett. Time spent arguing his case would just get in the way of passing draconian legislation undermining the fundamental legal principles that all people - no matter what their past contains - have the right to a fair, unprejudiced trial, and are innocent until proven guilty. And of course, if you're an asylum seeker, then don't expect Blunkett's Britain to welcome you with open arms. Don't expect anything except suspicion and intolerance. And you should be grateful for that.
This probably doesn't count for anything, and I don't want to be seen as bigoted against people with disabilities, but Blunkett's blindness only serves to amplify my distrust of him. With all other politicians, whatever their lips might say, one always has the second opinion of the story told by their eyes. Not so with Blunkett, and that makes me uncomfortable.
Balir's government is becoming increasingly controlling and restrictive in response to people growing more cynical about it, and Blunkett is among the worst perpetrators.
Where's the opposition - any kind of strong opposition - when we need it?
1.4.03
So I'm in the office chatting to The Woman about this and that, and she brings the conversation round to good hair/bad hair, whether men can tell the difference, and if I'd noticed that she was having a good hair day. Indeed, I tell her, entirely truthfully. She then goes on to tell me what she does with her hair at night, and develops this into what she wears to bed. Pyjamas, usually, and offers a description of various sets, asking whether I can picture her in them. I have to admit to her that I'm trying not to, it would compromise our professional relationship (omitting that I'd like to see said 'jamas and can I have a go at shagging her bandy). The Woman grins. Of course sometimes, she adds, it's too hot for pyjamas and she has to wear nothing. Very awkward moment. Not sure how to respond. Think about the war. Feel taunted.
Not that this matters, of course. I've decided this has been going on long enough, along with the two other girls at work. Time to do what I do best and smother the problem - the feelings, not the people.
Attraction dies pretty quickly if you cut off its oxygen of attention. I've done it plenty before, and while I usually don't even let people under my defences, I have done on this occasion, foolishly enough. I know I'm always happier if I don't want someone I can't have, and that's the way it's got to be. Nothing's beyond the power of the mind. Much easier not to find people attractive and be their friend. It might mean I feel lonely occasionally, but it's always been a price worth paying. Anyway, I've got family and friends. But you don't get hurt if you're not in the game, and that's the bottom line.
So hopefully you won't be hearing about Elf, Fencer and The Woman too much in future.
Not that this matters, of course. I've decided this has been going on long enough, along with the two other girls at work. Time to do what I do best and smother the problem - the feelings, not the people.
Attraction dies pretty quickly if you cut off its oxygen of attention. I've done it plenty before, and while I usually don't even let people under my defences, I have done on this occasion, foolishly enough. I know I'm always happier if I don't want someone I can't have, and that's the way it's got to be. Nothing's beyond the power of the mind. Much easier not to find people attractive and be their friend. It might mean I feel lonely occasionally, but it's always been a price worth paying. Anyway, I've got family and friends. But you don't get hurt if you're not in the game, and that's the bottom line.
So hopefully you won't be hearing about Elf, Fencer and The Woman too much in future.
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